


Hyacinthus Bloomed

by AngeDeLumiere



Series: Ambushed to the Altar [2]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeDeLumiere/pseuds/AngeDeLumiere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a steady hand to hold a criminal's. And when trying to find some normalcy in his whirlwind relationship, Akihito will take all the help he can get. Sequel to Sexy Ambush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, as always.
> 
> This is the sequel to Sexy Ambush.

One.

Akihito was used to Asami being controlling and stubborn. In their two years together, he had gotten used to it. Asami was as unyielding as a metal pole, and nothing would change that. Akihito did not want to change his nature, just his mind. 

“We don’t need rings, Asami. People will start asking questions!” the photographer argued. The older man was briskly walking away from a posh jewelry store in Ginza, having declared everything there was “complete trash”. 

“Let me,” scowled the crime lord. Passersby caught one look at his contorted face, annoyance swirling in bright gold eyes, and leapt out of the way. Quickly. “They need to. The world should know you belong to me.”

He was going to let that comment slide. It only stroked his lover’s libido when Akihito argued. “I can’t believe you’re so wound up over some rings! I don’t even remember agreeing to marrying you!” Akihito hissed the last half of his sentence, eyes darting around as if they could see someone eavesdropping. “Stop laughing, Kirishima!” 

The secretary was not laughing outright, but Aki had spent enough time with him to recognize that smirk. Kirishima internalized most of his emotion, but the photographer could still read him. He knew when he was being laughed at! 

“I’m not laughing, Takaba-kun,” the bespectacled man opened the door. “Suoh’s bringing the car around now.”

“It’s a ring or a collar, Akihito. Your choice,” Asami nodded to his faithful guard. 

“Ring it is,” he hated giving in so quickly, but he did not doubt that the jerk meant it. He would strap a collar around his throat, lock it with a padlock and dangle the key tantalizingly in front of Akihito. “But not from Ginza,” he was determined to win some part of the argument. “Or any place like it.”

“For once, we agree. We are not getting something cheap from the mall that any fool can get,” Asami waved Kirishima away and opened the door for Akihito himself. “In,” he ordered with a jerk of his finger. “Take us to Omotesando,” 

“Cheap? Asami, it’s too expensive!” the photographer crawled over the plush leather seat. “I can’t afford that!”

Asami snorted before yanking at Akihito’s wrist, tugging him onto his lap. “You know I’m paying for it, and I can.”

“Aassammmiiiiiiiiii,” Akihito whined before pushing away from his lover. He ducked his chin, skillfully avoiding Asami’s fervid kisses. “We’re supposed to buy them for each other! It’s bad luck to buy your own ring!” And the last thing they needed was bad luck, especially when the “marriage” was doomed from the start. 

Gold eyes narrowed as hands clenched around his waist. Asami held him tightly while rubbing gentle circles just above his tailbone. Akihito shuddered with delight, but refused to give in to the ministrations. “If I have to wear this forever, it isn’t going to be some cheap piece of metal that turns my finger green.”

Stay strong, Akihito. Asami was trying to distract him with sex, and it was working. His spine was already tingling in a delightful way. “You jerk!” he tried muster up a convincing glare. “I wouldn’t get yo something like that!”

Asami did not say anything, but skepticism oozed out of his pursed lips. Punching a button, the privacy screen rolled down. Akihito yelped and tried to clamber off Asami’s lap, but the bastard held him down tightly. It was not like Kirishima and Suoh did not know what happened in the back of the limo. Or in the penthouse… or Asami’s office. Pretty much everywhere, actually. “Kirishima, where did you and your wife get your rings?”

Takaba’s head swiveled. He had never seen the four eyed man wearing a wedding band, but he knew that he was married. He could not imagine Kirishima having anything flashy or blingy or remotely interesting. It was probably something standard, like the basic gold band from the Lord of the Rings. Asami must have approved of it, though, if he was inquiring about it. Hope flared in Aki’s heart at the thought of getting something simple that he could actually afford. 

“Saho had them specially made for us, Asami-sama.”

Well damn; there went that idea. The one time Akihito met the pregnant woman, she seemed sweet. Having small bands crafted especially for you made her seem like the other vapid and extravagant socialites who lived below him. 

“She understands,” Asami huffed. 

Again, Akihito wondered why his lover was making such a fuss over a couple of rings. “Then you should marry her!” he snapped. Suoh let out a bark of laughter that he tried valiantly to play off as a cough. Akihito flushed and then remembered who else was in the car. “No offense, Kirishima.”

“None taken, Takaba,” the secretary also chuckled. 

“Let me see it,” Asami released the squirming boy who scampered over to the other side of the limo. Out of arm’s reach. He watched as Kirishima unclasped a chain from around his neck that seemed invisible under his pressed oxford. Would Asami wear his ring around his neck, too?

Asami held the ring almost reverently in his palm. It was simple, but nothing like he expected. The band was a burnished titanium, almost black––it sparkled like obsidian. The band was rimmed by gleaming strips of light platinum. Light and dark, it embodied the two faces of Kirishima––and Asami, for that matter. Akihito knew immediately that he wanted something like that for Asami. Maybe he should consider a custom made ring…

“Nothing store bought was shiny enough for her,” he explained as his boss studied the ring. “Saho likes her diamonds,” Krisishima nodded in thanks when Asami finally returned the ring. It was clear that he felt physically uncomfortable being separated from the ring, even if it was Asami holding it while he was in the same car. 

“I think she’d wear only diamonds if she could get away with it,” muttered Suoh, though his eyes gaze never wavered from the road. It was soft, meant only for Kirishima’s ears, but Asami chuckled dryly. The men shared a knowing smirk, and Akihito rolled his eyes. Any respect he had for her quickly dissipated as she proved to be like every other rich woman. So much for not wanting to be trite. 

“She always has had excellent taste,” Asami agreed. “I’ll have to get the number of her jeweler.”

“At once, Asami-sama,” Kirishima already had his phone to his ear. “Hibiki-san, is Saho available?”

Akihito tuned him out. “Asami, you’re being ridiculous. We don’t need anything extravagant. I can’t even begin to image how much custom rings would cost.”

They both looked at Kirishima, who shrugged. “Hibiki, I need to know who my wife’s jeweler is.”

“She paid for them,” Suoh offered. He glanced in the rearview mirror, momentarily meeting Takaba’s eyes. He would know. He had been Kei’s best man. 

Akihito’s shoulders sagged in relief. “They couldn’t have been that outrageous, then.”

“Thank you, Hibiki.” Kirishima snapped his phone shut. “Actually, Takaba, Saho makes more than I do. The jeweler’s name is Sabiko Hiroshi. He owns a store in Nagoya.”

Asami actually looked offended at his employee’s statement. “You just got a raise.” It figured that Saho would go out of the city to get her rings done. It ensured that less people had access to the man she considered her private jeweler. “Call him when we get to Omotesando, and set up an appointment.”

Kirishima nodded. “Of course, Asami-sama. And I appreciate the offer, but you will never beat what Saho brings home.”

“I know. I’m paying her to do this damn wedding,”

“We could always elope,” Akihito was quick to suggest. Just get it out of the way, and stop Asami from turning into a full-fledged bridezilla. 

It was a dream too good to be true. Asami shook his head, and drawled, “Nice try. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

Damn. The photographer slumped back in his seat, arms crossed as he pouted. If Asami was being this dramatic about rings, he did not want to witness the drama over tuxes. At least Akihito was pretty sure that he would get to pick whatever kind of cake he wanted.

*

Naturally, Omotesando had nothing Asami liked. The store manager was nearly tripping over himself to show the yakuza every ring in the store, from traditional to gaudy. The photographer saw some things that he liked, but nothing that touched him the way Kirishima’s ring did. His thoughts kept drifting back to Sabiko-san, and what he thought Asami’s perfect ring would truly look like. 

“Asami-sama, Sabiko has an opening this Wednesday at eleven,” said Kirishima lowly. Akihito’s eyes fixed on his chest, looking for any swaying that might disclose the ring beneath his shirt. Nothing. The shirt was too thick. 

“Clear my schedule,” the older man replied. They were going to Nagoya. “Nothing here appeals to me.”

The manager’s face fell. Asami didn’t bother to lower his voice. “Akihito, come.” He strolled out of the store without waiting for his lover. He knew the boy would be hot on his heels, eager to get away from things that cost more than he made in a month. 

“Hey, Asami…” he sad softly. Once more, the throng parted quickly, allowing them to move easily. “I don’t want to go with you to see Sabiko.”

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. Akihito had an eking suspicion that Asami had them professionally shaped, but the criminal refused to own up to it. “Why not?” his voice was low, but Akihito heard the warning that carefully masked the surprise and hurt. 

He flushed, shoving his hands into his pullover’s pockets, and stared at his shoes as he walked, thankful he could look somewhere besides at Asami. “Well, thing ring is supposed to be special. And I can tell it’s important to you, so I want to do it right. I want for it to be a surprise,”

“Asami–sama, I can arrange to have Saho go with him,” the secretary spoke up. “She can help Takaba with his design.”

“Yeah,” Akihito chimed in. He really did not want some bimbo to help him, but then again, she did create Kirishima’s ring. “You can go see Sabiko first, and when I meet with him, he’ll already know what mine looks like. That way, we can make sure that the rings coordinate, but we won’t ruin the surprise.”

Asami mulled it over for a few minutes, and Akihito wondered if he was trying to say no without sounding like a jerk. “It isn’t my first preference, but if you want the rings to be a surprise, I suppose that is acceptable.”

Relief flooded his system. Asami’s hesitance stemmed from his wanting to control every aspect of life, and hating the unknown. He was all for letting Akihito create a ring specifically for him. “Great!” a grin exploded across his face, and there was a slight hop in his step. “This is gonna be awesome! You’ll love it, I promise.”

Asami ruffled his hair fondly. “I’m glad you are finally starting to get excited about this, brat.”

“Quiddit!” Akihito knocked his hand away with a jerk of his shoulder, giggling. “We’re in public.”

Asami’s smirk only grew larger. It threatened to mutate into a full-blown smile if he was not careful. His boy would have to get used to public affection. They were getting married after all. That thought still made his blood churn.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Akihito rambled on. “Be home by eleven. I’m making nanbanzuke for dinner, and it isn’t tasty reheated.”

“I’ll give you a ride to your photo shoot,” Asami protested, though he swore it was something else. 

“It’s not far,” Akihito shook his head. It was a beautiful spring day, and he did not have time for a round of afternoon sex in the limo. As much as he enjoyed it, he had to be at the studio by one. If Takaba Akihito was anything, he was professional. “Besides, it’s only a few blocks away.”

The photographer ran away before the crime lord could pull him into the limo, regardless. Asami was not going to ruin another job for him. “See you tonight!” he called over his shoulder. 

“Suoh,” Asami addressed his chief of security, though his eyes were fixed on his lover’s bouncing ass. “Arrange for Akihito to have an open escort. I want it clear that he is not to be touched.”

“Yes, Asami-sama,” the blonde behemoth bowed before he opened the limo door. “I’ll put my best men on it.”

“And feed him some low key news story. Something we can control,” Asami slid into the car. Now, more than ever, he had to keep Akihito away from his enemies. Pulling out his phone, he punched a familiar number into is as the privacy screen rolled up.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, nor do I ever intend to. I’m just giving life to some fangirl fantasies.

Chapter Two:

He really should stop judging people by first impressions. He was usually wrong. Asami wasn’t just a stone cold, heartless bastard concerned with only money. He had his own honor code that he adhered to strictly. Kirishima was not a wuss in a fight, despite how he looked in glasses. Plus he had a really hot wife. Takato, though blonde, was not a dumb blonde. That was Kou, contrary to his dark hair. Suoh had a sense of humor once you got him away from Asami. 

And Kirishima Saho––Urara Saho at work–– was not the airheaded bimbo Akihito first thought she was. She had a knack for asking uncomfortable questions that the photographer had never deigned to think about. 

“Suoh will send someone to pick you up when you are finished,” Asami straightened his jacket as the limo smoothly meandered through downtown traffic. “Just have Saho text Kirishima.”

“Why can’t I take the bus?” Akihito tilted his head to the side, hazel eyes meeting gold. “It will be quicker.”

“I will not have you wandering the streets at night alone,” Asami undid the button on his suit jacket. Akihito had helped him get redressed after a round of limo sex, which is why he was looking worse for the wear. Asami was pristine as ever, but apparently suits were not to be buttoned while sitting. 

“How long could it possibly take?” Akihito leaned to the seat, his hands cupping the back of his head nonchalantly. “I am sure you have it all planned out. She just wants me to give it the stamp of approval.” It would be a quick meeting, in and out, leaving the rest of his day wide open. 

“Actually,” Asami smirked as his kitten’s face scrunched up. “Saho knows my tastes extraordinarily well. She can make decisions for me. She wants your input today. And every other meeting. You will be planning this wedding with her.”

Akihito paled. “No fucking way!” he groaned, his open mouth swinging in tandem with the car’s turns. “I don’t want to plan anything!”

“Saho is adamant that you participate,” the yakuza chuckled dryly. “It is going to be the event of the century.”

“It’s your wedding!” he protested again. “Your idea. I’m just along for the ride!” No way. No way was he giving up any of his limited free time to plan some stupid ceremony that he would not remember. If he had his way, it would be a quick exchange of vows and some cake. 

“It’s your wedding too, kitten,” drawled Asami. “It is only natural that the bride help plan it…”

“I am not your damn bride!” Akihito shouted, though his cheeks turned a rosy pink. “I am a man, not a woman!”

“Asami-sama,” Suoh rolled down the privacy screen. “We are here,”

It was unusual to see someone besides Suoh in the driver’s seat. Today, the incredible hulk sat in the passenger’s seat, while a nameless goon chauffeured them around. It always freaked Akihito out to see people other than Suoh and Kirishima with Asami. Their protection always seemed more official, more secure than the nameless drones that Asami employed. But, he supposed that even faithful body guards had to have days off. They probably worked on days that Asami did not, come to think about it. 

“Be nice to Saho,” said crime lord pressed a kiss to the photographer’s soft, pink lips. “She can be mean to hissing kittens when they misbehave,” it was both a warning and a taunt. Stupid ass.

“I can handle you,” Akihito pushed away from Asami’s grabby hands. He ducked his head so Asami would not see him blush when the heavy hand squeezed his rump. Hard. “A pregnant lady will be a piece of cake.”

Asami chuckled. “Behave, kitten. Kirishima will grouse if Saho complains.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Akihito waved over his shoulder as Suoh opened the door. If Kirishima was pissy, there was nothing he could do to fix it. Kirishima Saho’s office was in the heart of Shinjuku, at the top of one of the countless skyscrapers. Another body guard opened the door and Suoh escorted him inside. Akihito felt like he was being passed off from one handler to another, like some prized show pony. He growled in indignation.

“Takaba Akihito?” a redhead woman greeted him the moment he walked the lobby of the high rise building. She was dressed in tight fitting black skirt with a white, ruffled blouse tucked into her skirt. Suoh arched an eyebrow as she collected him, and Akihito saw two of Asami’s goons check out her pert butt when she turned around. 

“Hi,” he shook her head and startled slightly. She was much stronger than she looked. 

“My name is Merav Tayeb. I am Saho’s second assistant. She asked me to show you up to our offices.”

He nodded. She turned away and did not check to see if he followed her. A nameless goon let out a wolf whistle, and he chuckled. Waving goodbye to Asami over his shoulder, because he knew his crimelord lover was watching, he stepped into the artfully painted elevator. 

“Top floor,” she crisply addressed the elevator boy. The building had an elevator boy who did nothing but escort people up and down all day. That had to be one of the most boring jobs in the history of the world. 

The boy, he looked about fifteen, turned a cherry red and quickly bobbed his head. A moment later, the metal box was rapidly climbing the skyscraper. Merav said nothing until the doors chimed open. “This way, please,” she gestured to the marble floored room. 

As expected, the entire office was modern, full of stark colors and crisp lines. He walked past the bubbling water feature and the half moon receptionist desk where a tawny haired man with thick rimmed glasses leaned over the shoulder of a rotund, middle aged woman. She flushed when he whispered something in his ear. Dark eyes flicked up to watch Merav strut by. She seemed to know that the man could n take his eyes off of her, and Akihito suddenly appreciated working with all men. 

Girls just made things confusing. 

“Do you do lots of parties?” Akihito asked, trying to strike up some kind of conversation. Merav was a strange woman, most certainly foreign because her words were laced with a heavy accent. She was dark and bold, something that was not native to Japan. 

The entire office was stark: a crisp orange accented by dark browns and whites. It was a minimalist transition into autumn, and he wondered how frequently Kirishima Saho redid her decor. Behind the water feature and pond were accent walls, paintings worth millions, and overpriced but comfy furniture. Akihito already had a dozen images in his mind that would showcase the interior. He would kill to shoot some promotional shots for Urara Saho.

“Yes,” she answered. “Up to one hundred a year.”

Holy crap. That was a ton. That was two or three a week. He was exhausted after Friday nights going crazy with Kou and Takato. The photographer could not image doing it multiple times a week. His liver could not handle it. 

She seemed to sense that he wanted to hear more about the business, and she obliged him. “We do birthday parties, luncheons, grand openings, business parties––anything you can want someone to plan. Saho goes to most of them, especially if it is a repeat client or an event that we have invested substantially in.

“Each event has its own binder, which holds everything that pertains to that event. They are organized by name, and chronological order for repeat clients, like Asami,” Merav led the way past the rooms of shelves, her deep voice lilting with an accent. Akihito tried to keep his jaw from dragging on the floor as they walked by. It looked like a freaking library!

“H–how many parties has Asami had?” he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. 

“He has his own cabinet,” the woman shrugged. “Saho has been doing his parties since they met, and that was nine years ago.”

She really did know Asami well, then. His fiance was not kidding just to piss him off. The photographer tried not to be jealous that they were obviously close, and that Asami had never mentioned it. Because Aki had friends too––like Takato and Kou. Takato was married, but he never told Asami that. Same thing, right?

“So how do you get away with calling your boss by her first name?” He had to lengthen his stride to keep up with the Amazon. “All of mine frown on that kinda thing,”

“Saho is an intimate person who thrives on familiarity,” Merav shrugged. “Also, I am Israeli. We do not speak so formally in my country.” She opened a door that was part of a glass wall. Inside was a conference room, with a long, European style table. Instead of having hard, plastic chairs, chaise lounges and sofas surrounded the table. It looked warm and inviting, especially with the panoramic view of Shinjuku. 

“Oh.” Now he knew why her name was weird.

“Yes, now sit.” The redhead pulled out an oversized chair. “Can I get you anything? Food? A drink?”

“No, but thanks,” he slowly sat in the plush chair, careful to stay out of her reach. Though Merav had smile politely and kept up the pleasant chitchat, Akihito felt the same powerful tension radiating off her that he associated with Suoh. With the Israeli woman, it was an undercurrent and not an attitude, but Akihito still thought she might suddenly snap his neck. 

“Saho will send for food several times,” Merav poured him a glass anyway. “She still has the strangest cravings.”

“My mom put chocolate on her noodles when she was pregnant with me,” he volunteered just to keep the awkward silence at bay. “I remember her saying that my dad used to gripe about it.”

“Yesterday, it was deep fried pickles smothered in sour cream.”

Ew. Thankfully, he did not lose his lunch and Merav had no obligation to keep him entertained. There was a muffled clacking, like heels on the hard wood, and then the glass doors were opened by a skinny man with tawny hair. He nodded to Merav as the ever pregnant Kirishima Saho bounced it. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said in lieu of a greeting. Sitting a thin binder on the table, she plopped down on the chair beside his. “My ultrasound took longer than expected.”

Merav’s face lit up, and Akihito knew that she was dying to see the pictures. “It’s okay,” he shrugged. It was not like he could be upset that she was taking care of her baby. Besides, Asami had cleared his schedule for the entire day. The thin binder gave him hope that he would be out of there in an hour so that he could play video games for the rest of the day. 

“Has Ryuichi told you what is going to happen?” she asked as her assistants began to lay books and folders on the table. There seemed to be a definitive order, and as he looked at the increasing thickness of the, Akihito could not help but feel a little worried. 

“He said that you wanted my opinion because you know his tastes.”

“We are going to plan your dream wedding, kid.” Pale, thin fingers opened up his black binder. It was empty, but there were labeled tabs. “This is going to be our life for the time being. It will hold every single thing about your wedding: budget, flowers, seating arrangement, receipts––you name it. It all lives here. 

“And this––the official copy––lives with me. You will have your own copy, which is given to you the day after every meetings. You can make your notes and requests in that one, so we can discuss them at our next meeting. Both books will always be completely current that way.”

“What if I want something impossible?” It would never happen, the photographer was far too practical for that, but the photographer wanted to know how far he could push her. 

“It is my job to make your dreams comet rues,” Saho absentmindedly patted his hand. “It will happen.”

The line was corny but it rolled out of her mouth so easily that he wondered how often she was asked that. Her clients must have thought themselves unique and fantastically extravagant. She probably got strange demands all the time. Unless he wanted the dead there, or a pumpkin carriage pulled by mice, he would get it. “Cool,” because that was the only appropriate response. 

“Ryuichi will also receive a copy with the same regularity as you, for him to make any notes.” Saho kept talking, “We will meet at least once a week, but we aren’t limited to that. I have some clients who want to meet every other day. Any questions so far?”

Nope. Not a one. 

“Today is just to give you an idea of how we do things, and to clue me in on what your dream wedding actually is. We can hammer out the specifics as we go along.” The woman talked a lot using her hands, he noticed. Every sentence had an accompanying gesture. 

Akihito kept nodding. It still was looking like a short meeting. “That sounds good to me.”

Saho gave him a bright smile. “So walk me through your dream wedding,” she encouraged him. Merav handed her a hot pink tablet case, complete with blinged out tablet pen. Saho flipped it open, and held the soft-nose pen just about the screen, ready to scribe his every whim.

He had to swallow before he could speak. “Well,” he curled his hands into fists as he tried to describe something he had never contemplated, let alone plan. “I guess I’ll be there. Asami, too. We will exchange vows, and rings. The rings are important to Asami, so we have to have them.” He watched Saho make a note of that. Then her pen stilled, poised and ready to record his dreams. “After that, we will eat cake.”

Plain and simple, get it done and over with so they could eat. 

Saho glanced at her assistants who both shrugged. She tapped the end of her pend against the iPad thoughtfully. “That was a good dry run,” she said after a moment. “Let’s go though it again, from the top with a little more detail.”

“That’s all I got,”

“Please say you’re kidding,” she sighed. 

“Nope,” the twenty-four year old shook his head. As long as Asami ate a piece of cake, Akihito was good. He would make that bastard like sweets if it was the “last thing he ever did. 

“So you don’t want a hundred white doves to be released when you walk down the aisle? Or maybe tuxes hand designed by Elie Saab?” 

“No! What’s so hard for you to understand? It should be a simple, quick and cheap,” Akihito cried. “Plus rings and cake!”

A pointy black nail was thrust under his nose. “Don’t you ever say cheap to me again,” Saho said slowly. “Hibiki,” she glanced at the man, “Make a reservation at Guillermo’s for eight-thirty and then call Kei. Tell him I lost the bet.”

Akihito balked when he realized that the couple had bet on his tastes. A scorching insult was tumbling out from behind his teeth when Saho dropped the tablet pen and collapsed back into the chair. “Oh my God. This is going to be so much harder than I originally thought,” she moaned while rubbing her temples. “That asshole played me.”

“So you see that side of Asami, too?” Akihito’s voice pitched in excitement. He crossed his arms, and tried to quench the annoyance that frothed in his stomach with happiness that someone else saw the yakuza for what he was. The photographer pretended that he did not like being the only one who knew him so well. 

“Not Ryuichi, my stupid husband. We made a bet, and he played me like a fool.” She too crossed her arms. “Merav, I need something deep friend and covered with chocolate.” 

The redhead Israeli woman immediately stood. “Do you want anything, Akihito?”

He nodded. “I’ll have whatever she is having.”

“Good choice,” Hibiki grinned. “Can you bring me a salted caramel mocha, beautiful?”

The woman flipped her partner off. “Don’t woo me, ass.”

“No swearing in front of the baby!” Saho looked between the two of them. As Merav walked out the door, her hips swinging, Saho turned back to Akihito. “It is always such a pleasure to work with these two.”

He chuckled. It was better not to mention that she just called her husband an asshole. Apparently, she was the only one exempt from the no swearing rule. “Sorry that I’m not being so helpful. At least, I’m not picky,” Akihito shrugged sheepishly. 

“Picky is easy,” Saho grabbed a thick magazine filled with flower arrangements and flipped through it. “Picky means specific and specific gives me something to deliver. Uncertainty gives me nothing to work with.”

He flushed. Oops. 

“It’s okay, sweetie. We will start simple: when do you want to get married?” she clicked her pen again. 

Akihito licked his lips. That was easy, “In the afternoon.” That way, he could sleep in. Undoubtedly, Asami would be particularly voracious the nearer the wedding drew, and he would keep Aki up late into the night. If he did not want black bags under his eyes, he needed all the sleep he could get. 

The tawny haired man––Hibiki snickered. Saho glared at him, but he did not seem overly concerned. “That’s good but I was asking more about a day or a month.”

Oh. “Within the year,” he looked at the assistant, daring him to laugh again. He was not making this easy, Akihito knew that. But the photographer truly did not know what he wanted. He figured Asami would plan it all, and all he would have to do was show up. Boy was he wrong. 

“Sooner or later?” Saho kept pressing him for information. 

“Later. My family may take a little while to convince.” Especially considering how they thought Asami was his friend, not his boyfriend.

“I understand completely,” Saho made an actual note on the iPad document. “So next spring?” 

It was just under a year, but he liked the idea of getting married when the earth was raw as it underwent its rebirth. It would be a fresh start, and it seemed apropos. “Yes.”

“Do you know where you want to get married?” the pen scratched on. 

“What do you mean? Like, a garden or in the penthouse?” He was quickly learning to be specific when it came to Kirishima Saho. She seemed to ask ambiguous questions but wanted a specific answer. Akihito was not going to let Hibiki laugh at him again. 

“Do you want a marriage or an adoption? Gay marriage isn’t legal here, so we would have to do it outside of the country for it to be legally binding. Or you could have a commitment ceremony in Japan, and Ryuichi could legally adopt you.”

Asami would want both because he was a possessive asshole. On the other hand, Akihito had no idea what he wanted. Not once had he ever thought about it. He was giving up his independence, his family and his––holy fuck! He would be taking Asami’s surname.

“Talk to Ryuichi, and get back to me,” Saho prattled right through his epiphany. “A lot of the planning hinges around that. We can’t choose a ceremony space until you decide, and you know how many people you can invite. Obviously flowers, invitations, and decorations are also dependent on that.

“Another thing to think about is your name,” she finally stopped talking to look at him. 

“Huh?” Akihito could barely process all that he had heard. 

“When the officiate announces you after the ceremony, will you keep Takaba as your name, or adopt Asami? Or will Ryuichi start using Takaba?” At least she laughed a little when she asked the question. Saho was only being polite when she suggested they consider his surname as much as Asami’s. It was ludicrous to actually contemplate, and if she had managed to keep a straight face, said photographer would have had a heart attack. 

“He’ll never––” he could not even finish the sentence. 

Saho shrugged. “It is my job to make you consider all possibilities,” she quipped. “No matter how ridiculous they sound.”

“Like the bastard would ever consider taking my name,” Akihito laughed uncomfortably. Takaba Ryuichi sounded like a mild mannered office clerk who sucked at golf on the weekends. Not a good image to conjure while controlling the East Asia underworld. 

“It was just a suggestion,” Saho said breezily. “No swearing in front of the baby. Do you want there to be a theme to your wedding? Hibiki,” she cut him off before Akihito could answer. “Go see how far away Sabiko is. And get us some hot white tea with some cumin. It’s Sabiko’s favorite drink,” she said to Akihito. 

He pouted goodnaturedly as Hibiki quickly left to do her bidding. “You said no to the cheap theme.”

“Cheap isn’t a theme, it is a mark of bad taste,” Saho pursed her lips. Apparently, hormonal pregnant ladies did not get jokes. “You can have sophistication at any budget.”

His mouth dropped. Budget: a familiar and comforting word. It gave him hope again for the wedding. Maybe he could reign Asami in, and not have all this frivolous spendi––

“You do not have a budget, so there is no need to worry about cheap.” Once again, Kirishima’s wife shattered his dreams. 

“I don’t want to waste millions of yen on a wedding,” the protest was feeble. Rich people never seemed to care about overspending. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I am not spending one yen more than I have to.” People did no stay rich by foolish spending. “Just think of it as economy stimulation. You are going to help many people make their monthly and yearly sales goals, if nothing else.”

“That is what I’m worried about,” he grumbled. 

“Don’t be. Now, we will discuss tuxes, or whatever you are wearing after we pick a venue. And a country.

“You will have some homework: start brainstorming what kind of food you want. A buffet? A sit down dinner? What foods will be served? I don’t need a definitive list any time soon, but just be thinking about it.”

“Ramen,” Aki pointed to her iPadiPad. “Write that down.” He was adamant about that. “There will definitely be ramen. And pocky and ice cream. Oooh! And beer. Asami will want brandy, too.”

Saho was nodding as she scribbled. “We should have started with food. You know some of what you want there.”

He flushed and an impish grin danced across his cheeks. “What can I say? I liked to eat.”

Saho winked. “I know what you mean. Now more than ever,” she rubbed her belly. 

Akihito chuckled. “When are you due?”

“In six weeks, so it won’t interfere with your big day,” she sighed. 

“I didn’t mean––” he stuttered. 

The woman giggled. “I know. Honestly, she can’t get here soon enough. I feel like a blimp, all stretched out and swollen.”

“Saho,” Hibiki poked his head in the door. “Your tea is almost finished brewing, and Sabiko has arrived.”

“I really would rather it be my food. Find Merav,” she muttered. “I suppose he in an acceptable second. Send him in.”

“You don’t send me anywhere, darling,” a short man with a glowing bald spot pushed his way past Hibiki. “I arrive,” he gestured grandly. The flamboyant man embraced Saho before kissing both of her cheeks and then grabbing her belly. “How are both of my girls?”

“We’re doing well. She’s almost here, thankfully. This is Takaba Akihito,” she gestured to Akihito. 

“Don’t get up on my behalf,” Sabiko pushed Saho back into her chair before embracing Akihito in the same familiar way. “Your fiance spoke very highly of you,” he told Akihito. 

He flushed. He was pretty sure that whatever Asami had said, it was not as flattering as Sabiko Hiroshi made it sound like. It was probably something possessive that would have made his blood boil. “Huh,” he grunted. 

“We designed you a lovely ring, Takaba-kun. One of my personal favorites, I must say.” Akihito saw Saho roll her eyes, and he realized that the saccharine fat man must say that to all of his customers. “I understand that you want your rings to be part of a matched set.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Not matchy matchy, but…” Akihito struggled to find the words.

“Coordinated,” Saho supplied. 

“Excellent,” Sabiko nodded to Saho who looked like she was going to start taking more notes. “Tell me about some of the elements that you want to incorporate into Asami-san’s ring. What is the story you are trying to tell?”  

Saho smirked. She probably thought he was as clueless about the ring as he was the rest of the wedding. He certainly was not going to tell their story in their wedding bands. Though it was a good story, its tumultuous beginning was not something either wanted to relive every time they looked at their rings. Akihito preferred to tell who Asami Ryuichi was through his wedding band. And he did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. I work full time, and am studying for the GMAT. I have almost no free time. I hope you all enjoyed it, and I could not resist making you wait for the ring descriptions. There is going to be a bigger reveal for them!


	3. Three

Chapter Three:

So maybe planning a wedding wasn’t going to be as terrible as he imagined. Yes, he was going to have to announce to the world that he was officially with the crime lord, that somewhere along the way, his scrupulous morals had blurred until right and wrong was no longer black and white, but a hazy gray. The world would mock him undoubtedly, where was his character and backbone in the face of monogamy? But he wanted to be with Asami Ryuichi, enough to stand against the critics. 

And his parents––if Akihito ever got around to telling them about his fiancé. 

Akihito slowly stirred the hot pot, letting his thoughts wander. Saho wasn’t too bad, certainly not as stuffy as Kirishima. She laughed a lot, ate even more, but asked entirely too many questions. How was he supposed to know about wedding parties, tuxedo cuts––or did they want more traditional garb? And of course, how many people to invite, and how. All with no pressure, of course. Never any pressure. Saho kept reassuring him that everything was tentative, just to get his ideas flowing. There were boutonnières, guest lists, favors, and location, location, location. That was imperative, apparently. 

He needed to consult Asami, too. The photographer had no idea what his tastes were for something like a wedding, but he had a sinking feeling it fell along the lines of the bigger, the better. That was the complete opposite of Akihito’s preference. 

“You look like you are in deep thought,” Asami’s drawl sliced through the contemplative silence. “Are you thinking of me, kitten?”

“Gah!” he jumped a foot into the air. The plastic ladle clattered on the granite countertop. He whirled around, brandishing the spoon like a sword. “Don’t scare me like that! I could have knocked the pot off the stove!”

Asami’s eyes glinted as he loosened his tie. “Then I would have a dirty lover to punish for making a mess.” There was a half smirk on his face, and apprehension slicked Akihito’s palm. Asami looked like he was going to make a mess, and then blame Akihito. 

“Don’t you even think about it,” snapped the boy. “I don’t want third degree burns all over me.” That stopped the crime lord in his tracks, so he went back to cooking. Asami had obviously not considered the temperature of the food in his fiendish plans. 

“How was your day?” Asami kissed the side of his neck, arms slipping easily around his waist. 

Akihito arched his neck, exposing it for Asami to feast on. “Good,” he groaned lowly. “Just wedding stuff.”

Asami pressed against his supple butt. Recently, nothing got him as hard as wedding talk. “How was your trip to Saho’s? Did you meet with Sabiko?”

Akihito glanced at the surprisingly thick binder sitting on the kitchen table. There were so many empty tabs, it was ridiculous. He could not begin to fathom how thick it would be by the time the wedding was all planned. 

Asami noticed his gaze. “Saho is quite…thorough,” he too thought it was needlessly full with dividers and subcategories. “You will get used to it. It’s one of her many qualities that make her the best. No detail is too small, and nothing is left to chance.” 

Akihito was afraid of that. It was going to be a long and exhausting year if she wanted to talk about every single detail. He really did not care what color ribbon they used on the napkins. This wedding was shaping up to be a terrible idea. He could always convince Asami to elope, but for that he was going to need some sexual persuasion via another sexy ambush…

“Akihito,” Asami’s voice was suddenly solemn. “A situation has arisen in Kiev. I’ll be away for a few days.”

His blood curdled in his veins. He instantly stilled, and had to swallow to find his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Asami bit the shell of his ear. “Some factory workers are on strike, and production has halted. There isn’t a story for a criminal investigator.”

“You idiot,” Akihito resumed his cooking. “I wasn’t thinking about a story.” Factory workers on strike sounded tame, nothing that would involve guns or life-threatening negotiations. Unless Asami threatened to shoot himself out of boredom. Hopefully the Ukrainians were not unionized. There was no need to worry about his safety; something Akihito would gladly trade three days and a couple million yen for any day. 

Asami chuckled. “Were you worried about me, kitten?”

A moan reverberated, deep in his throat, as Asami licked the length of his neck. “Always.” It was a breathy utterance, more of an exhale than an actual word, but Asami understood it.

The hot pot sloshed out and the spoon slid across the wooden floor when the crime lord spun him around. Akihito surrendered willingly, letting Asami plunder his mouth. Strong tongues danced, dueling like sabers, twisting and turning to stroke sensitive spots. “Asami…” Akihito groaned. 

Calloused hands lid up his chest. Thumbs circled around his sunset colored nipples, teasing and tantalizing. The photographer thrust his chest into those tortuous hands, desperate for friction. He shoved his own hands into Asami’s pants, which was a tight squeeze because he never undid the man’s belt. He stroked what he could reach of the man’s penis, finger pads ghosting over delicate flesh. Maybe the teasing would drive Asami crazy, too, and he would finally touch Akihito. 

Chuckling at the photographer’s whine, he pulled away to unclasp his belt buckle. “Teasing isn’t nice, Akihito.”

Full lips pouted. “You should look in the mirror, then. You started it.”

Asami bit his lip when Akihito’s hands enclosed around the hard organ. It was dry, so he kept his hold light as he stroked up and down. He peppered kisses over the expensive shirt, wanting to show his lover some attention. Asami was going to be gone for a few days, and no matter what he claimed in the heat of an argument, Akihito would miss him. 

Large hands grabbed his ass, and kneaded the round loaves like bread. The squeezes were hard, but the hot pain was delicious. His head dropped back and eyes fluttered shut as he let out a slutty moan. In reward, Asami squeezed harder. 

Akihito’s hands stilled. Pushing up on his tiptoes, he kissed the fixer hard. They were moaning, and panting, chests heaving and hearts hammering. The world suddenly spun, and his feet were swept out from under him when Asami picked him up, bridal style. The crime lord had the presence of mind to turn off the stove. Dinner could wait––it usually did. 

The photographer giggled, feeling silly and girly, but he liked Asami throwing him unceremoniously on the bed. The wind was knocked out of him, so he was quite compliant when Asami pulled his pants off, not even bothering to unzip them. His take-charge attitude was always a huge turn on. When he started to kiss his way up Akihito’s leg, the photographer groaned, and shifted his legs. 

Asami licked his lips. His boy was practically screaming ‘Easy Access’. He must have been feeling horny today. That explained why he was wearing the jeans that were as revealing as ass-less chaps. He had not had those on when he went to the meeting with the jeweler. He wanted Asami to fuck him hard; those pants always screwed with his mind. 

“Aah!” the boy gasped when Asami gently blew on the shiny, erect cock. The dripping organ was burning hot, and the unexpected cold made him writhe. “N…no teas…ing…” he cried between moans. 

Asami never listened to his petitions. He shoved his fingers into Akihito’s wet mouth while he lazily licked the pink mushroom head. His boy was moaning so voraciously that he could barely suck on his fingers. Asami pulled away. “Suck on them, kitten. It’s going to be the only lubrication you get tonight,” he warned before swallowing the entire dick with one drawn out suck. 

Akihito halfheartedly lapped at his fingers. He tried to concentrate, trying to imagine that the bent fingers were his lover’s dick as it slid down his throat. Those fingers deserved the same attention as that glorious cock that split him open, but every time he thought about Asami’s cock, he went slack jawed. He needed that fat rod inside of him like he needed oxygen. Urgently and immediately. 

Akihito’s hands threaded through dark hair, locking Asami in place. The man did not even seem to notice, even when Akihito’s hips started bucking, shoving his dick deep into that talented mouth. Asami kept at his slow, leisurely pace, indulging in his body the way one did with ice cream. 

“Athammiiii…” he cried, his tongue dancing around the thick fingers. 

The crime lord ripped his fingers from the boy’s mouth, and while one hand lifted his ass off the bed, spit slicked fingers slipped into him. Akihito screamed, on the verge of an orgasm. He could feel his toes tingling, and the knot in his stomach was white hot. If his damned lover would suck just a little bit harder, if he would finger fuck Aki just a tiny bit deeper, he would come. 

But Asami knew, and kept his touches and licks light. 

“Asami!” the boy shouted in frustration. 

“You lewd kitten,” the fixer teased. “So desperate to be fucked, and we haven’t even taken off our clothes yet.”

That did it. He was never one for self-restraint, but whatever self control he had snapped. Quicker than lightning, the photographer was on his knees. Asami’s eyes widened at the quick movement, but Akihito did not care. Grabbing the silk shirt, he pulled as hard as he could. Buttons exploded off Asami’s chest like fireworks, the debris raining around the room. Some even hit Akihito, but he did not notice. Shoving the shirt half way down Asami’s arms, he demanded, “Get your pants off. Now!”

He let the man undress himself, and tried to shimmy out of his cotton tee. He was in too much of a hurry, though, and got stuck with his arms leashed over his head. He heard the metal belt buckle clack on the floor. He was pushed back before he could speak, and his legs were spread by an iron grip. 

Asami thrust home, and though he was locked in restraints of his own making, Akihito was delirious with pleasure. He clenched his anal muscles tightly as if trying to keep Asami trapped in him. If they could stay joined like that forever, Akihito would die of happiness. 

Asami grunted at the tight suction. He pulled back hard, nearly slipping out of the wet channel all together. He paused a moment, watching his lover struggle and buck, willing to do anything to be fucked. Then, he thrust back in to the hilt. The boy’s hips moved pliantly, greedily taking in everything Asami offered. 

Akihito’s moans were driving him crazy. He made such beautiful faces when lost in venereal pleasure. Asami loved to watch, knowing only he could make the boy feel this way. It was heady and humbling. 

With a ferocious snarl, Asami grabbed the cheap shirt. It ripped in two, and still clung to his arms, but at least he could see that gorgeous face. Light hazel eyes opened, focusing on Asami’s animalistic sneer. He came. Thick ropes of pearls arched in the dark. It splattered all over the man’s chest. Not that he cared; Akihito marked him, as he marked the boy. Asami fucked him through the gut-wrenching orgasm and kept a steady pace until Akihito was hard again. 

“No!” Akihito shook his head back and forth as he writhed. Not again. Not so soon. 

“Yes,” Asami growled. Spitting on his hand, he took the photographer’s sensitive dick, jerking upwards in sync with his thrusts. Akihito rammed into Asami’s hand in tandem, accepting the deep fuck Asami was pounding into him. 

He came with a ragged cry, and he finally relaxed when he felt a liquid heat shoot far into him. Asami’s chest was heaving, as he tried to catch his breath. He still had several more rounds to go with his lithe lover. 

“You bastard,” wheezed Akihito. He had one arm thrown haphazardly over his eyes, as he lay spent on the bed. “You ruined my shirt.”

“Turnabout is fair play,” the crime lord chuckled. The bed dipped when he lay next to his beautiful Akihito. “You ruined mine first.”

The photographer looked pleased with himself. “I guess I did.”

His smugness was entirely too sexy, and Asami just had to steal an ardent kiss. 

“Asami!” Akihito giggled delightedly before he pushed his lover away. “Dinner first, and then more sex.”

The feared crime lord actually pouted. “Only if we eat naked.”

The boy’s mouth dropped. He looked stunned that anyone would suggest eating hot pot in the nude, and his refusal was on the tip of his tongue, when his stomach rumbled so loudly that Russia could hear it. He quickly acquiesced. 

*

“Asami?” he whispered several hours later. It was dark as they lay in bed after rigorous lovemaking. The white noise of Tokyo was soothing, and he could feel himself slipping into a deep sleep. “Be safe, okay? I want you to come home to me.”

Asami tenderly kissed his forehead. “I promise.”

*

The wedding talk stopped as soon as Asami left the country. He was the steam for the wedding engine, and without him to fuel the train, Akihito was content to let Saho have her way. She made suggestions, but when she liked something, she would smile and flip her hair. If she liked it, Asami would like it, and that was good enough for Akihito. 

His lover was not supposed to have been gone this long. Three days stretched into five days, and then a week. Then two. When Kirishima was called to Kiev, Akihito knew it was serious. Typically, Kirishima stayed in Japan to oversee the business if Asami had to travel. The entire entourage only traveled together under the most dire of circumstances. Like Hong Kong. For Kirishima to leave, especially with the baby being due so soon, something major was going down. And Akihito was going to kill Asami for lying to him. 

There were no more phone calls. No more distractions. He had received a text fours days ago that they were all right, but that there could be no communication. Saho received a similar text from Kirishima that nearly sent her into early labor. She had screamed and ranted, and then threw her phone at the wall. It shattered into a million microchips, but she did not care. It certainly made Akihito jump. And here he thought Asami was the violent one. 

Hibiki said no news was good news. Then Saho threatened to fire him and made Merav cancel all of her appointments for two days. She wanted to eat ice cream and pickles while scouring the internet for any information. The photographer by now had her cell number (Merav had quickly run to get her a new one), and was badgering her for information. Tokyo was unusually quiet, especially with the top dog away. That made him even edgier. 

“What’s going on?” he demanded his voice low. He glanced at the models clustered on the other side of the room, getting final touches put on their hair and make up. “You have to know something by now.”

“I don’t!” he heard her run her fingers over her head. “There is nothing on here. Even those pinko bastards haven’t moved. I can’t even find a mention of the factory.”

“That jerk,” Akihito hissed. “He must have lied about the factory.” Of course, it made perfect sense. He distracted the photographer with sex, food, and then more sex. By the time he got around to thinking about Asami’s business trip, he had accepted the lie: it was going to be calm and boring. 

“Oh-hoh, he better not have,” Saho snorted. “I’ll rip off his balls if he did.” Kei knew better than to lie to her. She always found out. 

She must have been talking about her husband. Hopefully, she was smart enough to know not to cross Asami Ryuichi. Akihito suspected that he would be very protective of the family jewels, especially considering how sensitive they were. They were the perfect crown to a magnificent cock. “Yeah,” he grunted, not really sure what to say to that. 

“I am going to keep looking. I’ll let you know when I find anything out,” she promised. 

“Okay, thanks.” 

The phone clicked off. It was kind of nice, having another wife to worry with. Before when Asami took trips, Akihito would drown himself in alcohol and video games, numbing the fear until Asami came home. Kou always believed the excuse of guy time, so it was easy to convince him to help Akihito self-medicate. Now that he knew Saho lived just a floor below him, and was more than willing to ponder over every possible scenario, he found an ally. Worrying and misery always liked company. 

That had been hours ago. Saho had gone off the grid. She did not answer her phone, or texts. Akihito tried emailing her, but had gotten no response. When he called the office, Merav had answered. She informed him rigidly that Saho had an appointment with the Minister of Transport that could not be rescheduled, and that it was high time for her to return to work. The Israeli woman did not allow moping about, it seemed. 

“We know nothing, and Saho cannot be disturbed during this meeting. We can pencil you in tomorrow for half an hour, if you would like.”

Damn, she was militant. She even ordered her boss around. “Sure,” but he was desperate, and would take whatever help he could get. “What time?”

“Four-thirty tomorrow,” she answered. “It will be a short meeting, so be ready to work quickly.”

Akihito was fairly confident that no work would be done. They would spend the minutes hunched over an iPad, scouring the internet for news and postulating what might have happened. He could easily do that all day, every day until Asami came home. It was stupid to plan a wedding that might not even happen. Nevertheless, he lied to the waiting assistant. “Okie dokie,” he tried to keep his voice light. 

She snorted. “You are a terrible liar, Akihito. See you tomorrow.”

So she knew he was lying. He briefly wondered if his appointment was all a ruse, as if the woman was moving in secret. In a spy movie, there would have been goons sitting in her waiting room, trying to overhear Saho’s schedule. Merav could have been protecting him, by making it seem like just another appointment. Akihito laughed. He was being ridiculous. There were no villains, no nefarious plots in the Tokyo underworld. Merav was a business woman, who needed to have her boss actually in her business, running it. 

Pulling his laptop across the table, he pushed it open. The bright screen flared to life, almost blinding him in the darkening apartment. He was an investigative journalist. He did not have to rely on some housewife for information about his own lover! He could do it himself, and tomorrow, at the meeting, be the one to give Saho some good news. He probably even had access to sources Saho never dreamed of. Oh yeah, he smirked, feeling more confident than he had in two weeks. This was going to be a piece of cake. 

*

Or maybe not. Saho was not kidding. There was nothing on the internet. Zip. Zilch. Nada. It was as if Asami had completely fallen off the grid all together. Even after acquiring a list of all factories in Kiev (which there were fewer than he was expecting), and cross-referencing the owners against Asami’s name and aliases, he still had nothing. He was forced to admit that maybe the factory Asami was talking about did not exist. 

Nearly six hours of searching and four beers later, he was just as clueless as before. He slumped back, arms dangling at his sides, numb from blood loss. Fuck! Curse his stupid lover for being entirely too smart with his business, thus making it impossible for him to be tracked. Even after admitting that he was going to worry, Asami still jerked him around. Fuck, he was so furious that he considered grabbing a change of clothes and crashing at Kou’s for the next month. That would show the bastard. 

A knock on the door made him jump. Wincing as the chair legs screeched, he trotted to the door. He could make out a familiar face through the peephole. Hibiki. 

“Hey man,” Akihito shrugged. “What’s up?”

“I am making a delivery for Saho,” the assistant answered.

“What?” Akihito yelped. “Come in. Quick.” It must be news, something about Asami and Kirishima. Maybe she had found the factory. They certainly weren’t dead. That would have warranted a personal visit, or at least a phone call. 

“No, thank you,” the man declined with a shake of his head. “I am not staying. She just wanted you to look over wedding invitations.”

“Huh?” That made no sense. What happened to no pressure, and we can’t decide anything else until we pick a venue? Now she was making him do invitations, instead of leading the manhunt for his lost lover.

Hibiki handed him a thin envelope. Just one, and it was already sealed. Apparently, she was not giving him much of a choice. “Goodnight, Akihito-kun,” Hibiki said with a bow, before disappearing down the hallway. Asami was the only one who lived on this floor, so it was a short walk. The photographer waited until the elevator doors slid shut before he went back inside. 

Closing the door, he made sure it was locked. Just because Asami owned the building did not mean he could be stupid. Flipping the envelope over, he read the front. It was all in swirling calligraphy, so pretty that he was sure it came from a machine. Name. Address of Invitee. Flowers and decoration on the envelope. It was an official wedding invite. But when he turned it over, he saw it was sealed, with Saho’s name written over it. Proof that no one had opened it. 

Pulse fluttering and lips dry, he hooked one finger under the delicate paper. The message was succinct. Phones compromised. Boys coming home in two days. Don’t be late for the meeting.

Oh God. They were safe. Asami was safe. Whatever happened, it was over. He knew he should be frightened. Something was wrong enough for Saho to move silently, making sure that no one could hear anything. She even suspected that the apartments and the office were bugged, and the phones tapped. He would freak out in the morning. Now, Asami was coming home, and that was enough. 

With a smile, he flipped open his wedding binder. He would do his part for the charade, to make it appear like life carried on as normal. He would have questions for Saho. 

Maybe someone had been in her reception area, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! This was not how I intended the chapter to go at all. I would get a couple thousand words out, and then scrap the entire thing. When in doubt, write a lemon, am I right? There is going to be some angst and drama in the story, just because I like to write it. I can’t help myself. 
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful Miyanoai, who fixed my crazy typos, wrong words, and confusing sentences! I have no idea why I typed birds.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many many thanks to the wonderful Miyanaoi. Though swamped, she came through for me time and time again! Fingers crossed that you ace all of your finals!

Chapter Four:

Acting casual was the key. It needed to look like any other appointment, or so he justified the box of bagels tucked under his arm. Saho was always ravenous, so bribing her with food made the appointment more enjoyable. She could not yell if she was stuffing her face with carby goodness. 

The doorman and the elevator boy both recognized Akihito by now. They nodded politely, but did not speak. Saho’s business was on the top floor of the skyscraper, but there were dozens of businesses beneath it. How they recognized him so quickly seemed impossible. Then again, it was their job to keep track of who came and went. 

Koyanagi Moe was the first to actually speak to him. “Welcome back, Takaba-san.”

“I’ve brought treats,” the photographer held up the breadbox. 

“You spoil us,” Koyanagi batted her eyelashes. She was the plump receptionist that Akihito saw during his first visit. She was a hopeless flirt, and batted her eyes at any male that walked through the door. Akihito saw her pinch Hibiki’s butt a couple of times; the assistant always jumped and while flattered, reminded her that Saho prohibited sexual conduct at work. And no one wanted the favored receptionist to get fired, the man would say with a saucy wink. Personally, Akihito thought the real reason Hibiki had not complained was because Merav would bristle if she walked by the secretary flirting with him. He seemed to crave Merav’s attention. 

“I can put that with the others, if you would like,” said secretary offered as she pushed her rolling chair away from the desk. “Or in your conference room.”

With the others? His eyes narrowed. Other clients were bribing her with food too, trying to pump her for information and get on her good side. Dammit. He needed her hungry so she would be more forthcoming with details about Asami’s stupid ass. “I’ll just hold on to them, Koyanagi-san,” he tried to grin as he walked to his favorite chair. “I don’t mind.” That way, he could ensure that the woman would not filch a bagel or two. And he certainly did not buy them for her. 

He was early, and the antsy boy knew it. So he sat quietly in reception, knees bouncing as he thought up all the ways the phones could have been compromised. There was no one in the office that looked fishy: no men in black with earpieces or a guy in a trench coat with sunglasses. He glanced up at Koyanagi. She would chat anyone up, and did not seem too concerned with the privacy of the clients. Maybe she was the leak. 

Akihito thumbed through his binder. Most of his questions were moot, but he was trying to play the part. Finally, Hibiki came to get him. “This way, please.”   
The photographer hurried after him, barely remembering to grab the bagels. Can’t lose the bribe money. 

“Your appointment was not until 4:30,” the thin man stated calmly. 

“Yeah, I know,” Akihito flushed. “I was so stir-crazy that I couldn’t sit still. Being here seemed to calm me down.”

“Did Merav not go over the rules with you?” Hibiki stopped in front of a large, windowless door. Akihito nearly face planted into it, but no big deal. 

“Uhh…” No? Because why would there be rules? Asami made him show up the first time, and desperation drug him here today. Duh. 

“You are to arrive no more than fifteen minutes before your appointment,” the assistant crisply informed him. “You do not speak to any other patrons, and they will not speak to you. You do not discuss anything that happens in the office with anyone. And you do not tell people that you are coming here.”

Well, that was unexpected. Not that he intended to chat up any of the celebrities that might pass him by. Or brag to his coworkers that he was marrying Japan’s biggest crime lord. Some things were personal.

“We cater to an exclusive clientele, of which you now are a part of. They, too, enjoy their privacy,” Hibiki reminded him. It was almost like he could read Akihito’s mind, and that was unsettling. 

“Okay,” he nodded dumbly as he shrugged. Anytime he came to see Saho, he kept his head low and avoided eye contact. He had friends who snooped on celebrities––paparazzi and entertainment journalists––and the last thing he needed was someone asking why he made weekly visits to a ritzy event planner. 

Hibiki nodded once. “Saho will see you now,” and he opened the door. 

Akihito had never seen the inside of Saho’s office, and it must have been top secret because Hibiki quickly closed the door. The lock clicked shut loudly. 

“Ooh, bagels!” Saho squealed from behind her desk when she looked up from a thick day planner. Where Asami’s was large and powerful, Saho’s took up most of the back wall, but was thin and sleek. He could actually see the obsidian wood, instead of mountains of papers that littered his lover’s. It was thin, like a dinner table, showing her legs and was sparsely covered. There were wedding pictures, several computers and her open planner, stuffed with papers. “Gimme!”

Oh yeah. Bribery was a good idea. The woman liberally smeared cream cheese over her toasted bagel while Akihito sat across from her. “Thanks, love,” she grinned. 

“So what happened to cause all of the secrecy?” he asked. If she wasn’t going to bother with pleasantries, neither was he. There was a reason he was in the seemingly super secret office, and why the doors were locked. Akihito saw a woman in a headscarf and big sunglasses leaving some twenty minutes before, surrounded by bodyguards, and he knew Merav was meeting with another client. Even Koyanagi’s chipperness seemed forced. 

“Oh,” Saho sucked the cream cheese off of her thumb and index finger. “We had a couple of paparazzi break into the office. They were looking for client information. Don’t worry,” she said quickly whenever Akihito’s mouth dropped. “They didn’t get anything important. But they did manage to tap the phones and get some client info on Akutsui Rangiku.”

“The heiress?” She was famous for being famous, or maybe for being rich. She liked to wear skimpy outfits and call herself a fashion designer. 

“I’m doing the launch party for her fall line,” Saho shrugged. “Journalists snoop around here all the time, looking for anything they can get their hands on.”

He knew that very well. Maruyama Aoi was a good friend of Mitarai’s, and was an unscrupulous jerk that would do anything for a story. Even lie to the public. Mangakas published more truth than he did. Akihito swallowed the lump in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “Did they get anything on Asami?”

“No,” she pushed away from the desk. Another rolly chair. “Certain things––” which meant important, secret things, “––I take home with me. Or I put them in my safe. Anything about Ryuichi is kept under lock and key.” 

“But Merav said you have a whole bookshelf for him,” he protested, remembering the labyrinthine archives. He knew that he should take what she said at face value, but the investigator in him pushed to know the full truth. No holes in the story, no missing information and Asami absolutely had to be protected. He brought bagels, dammit. He could afford to pry!

“I do,” she pulled Akihito’s new binder out of the safe behind a painting. So cliché it hurt. “In my home office. The decoys are kept here.”

He accepted the proffered binder with a nod. “That seems like an awful lot of work for some parties.”

“Excessively so,” agreed Saho. “It’s all about asset protection, Akihito. What protects you protects Ryuichi. And protecting Ryuichi keeps Kei out of the line of fire. Plain and simple.”

It all came down to protecting her family, he realized. And Saho seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else. “And Ukraine?” He moved on, trusting her to take the necessary precautions. Akihito was not sure if he wanted to know. Out of the country was out of their control and being able to only react was tortuous. 

“The strike was real. Ryuichi was a silent partner in the plant. A local named Alexandre Omisky was at the helm of the project.”

“You say was,” Akihito looked at the door as Hibiki opened it, discreetly setting the tea tray on the desk between them, and then withdrawing, as susurrate as when he came. 

“Yes. Lock the door on your way out,” Saho called to her assistant. “Ryuichi no longer has any control over the plant.”   


“Did Omisky cheat him out of his half?” Akihito stumbled over the awkward name. He squished the rising anger that Asami might not get his due, that someone dared cheat his lover. 

“No. Omisky’s dead,” she added honey to her piping hot mug. “He owed millions to a man named Nikolai Pushkin. And Pushkin took the factory as recompense.”

“That’s why they were gone so long,” he quickly filled the blanks in. “Asami was negotiating with Pushkin? Did he get bought out?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Saho nearly simpered at his naivety. 

Akihito was not satisfied. Stormy eyes scintillated as she waited for him to piece it all together. “That does not explain why Asami cut off all contact.” He was still miffed at the succinct text, and ire masked terror. Reticence was unyielding, and he could only wonder what caused the radio silence. 

“You have to understand, Akihito, that the world at large does not know of your existence. Of how beloved you are by Ryuichi, that is. People, Lui Feilong for example, will try to use you against him if given the chance. It was safer for us all if they had no contact.”

Hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do you know all of this?” Kirishima could not have contacted his wife without Asami’s knowledge. And if the crime lord allowed his subordinate a phone call, but did not make one himself, there would be hell to pay. Akihito would sleep in his room for a month!

“Mischa and I go back,” Saho looked almost feral as her gray eyes flashed. “He is giving Ryuichi asylum and ferrying him home.”

“Mischa? You mean Mikhail Arbatov, don’t you?” Who did this woman not know, and how was she so comfortable with all the criminals of Asia? It was starting to get ridiculous. Maybe they all kidnapped her, too, and passed her around like a peace pipe. That would certainly be another bonding point between them. 

“Yes.” The Arbatovs were in a pseudo civil war with Pushkin and his men. Russia and Eastern Europe were a trembling blood bath, with governments and civilians choosing sides. Thus far, Asami had been able to stay neutral in the conflict, and Pushkin saw that as siding with the Arbatovs. A purloined plant, no matter how insignificant, was a slight that could not be ignored. To save face, Asami would have to throw his support behind Mikhail, or collect a pound of flesh from Pushkin. That was not forthcoming in the imminent future, and doing nothing was absurd. 

For a man of Asami Ryuichi’s caliber, revenge was mandatory. 

*

Fortunately, they did not discuss the wedding. Saho explained more about Asami’s world: how there were certain expectations of powerful men, how Asami’s sudden withdrawal truly protected Akihito, and that Arbatov could possible hold the men for a few days until they ceded to his demands. Honor dictated that they give Mikhail a prize in gratitude before the alliance was sealed in blood. 

Blood, honor and money. These were the codes of all men, and the traditional crime lords, who reveled in their power like adored kings, acted on them. It still boggled Akihito’s mind. After all this time, he was still learning about Asami, and a world that felt like a seventies’ kung-fu flick. 

He was looking up Nikolai Pushkin. The man seemed to be the standard mobster. He was accused of human trafficking to the United States, where he had brothels and strip clubs up and down the west coast. Akihito could extrapolate, though, and assumed Pushkin smuggled drugs and weapons along with people. Legally, he bought and sold art, and invested heavily in nuclear power. That was contrary to Asami, who dabbled in renewable energy. 

One thing was clear: Pushkin was a fearsome man, as dangerous as a rabid bear and just as powerful. He was brave or stupid to challenge Asami in a power play, but he was also an established kingpin in Russia. If someone could cripple Asami’s regime, it was Pushkin. 

Asami…It had been so long since he had last seen his lover, touched him and embraced him. Just thinking about Asami made his heart race and his blood run thick. His skin heated up as he imagined how fantastic it would feel to have the crime lord back in his arms…

The front door clicked open, and he heard shoes shuffling in the genkan before…silence. Asami moved as loudly as a shadow. The lithe photographer leaned back into his chair, fingers combing his hair out of his face. He would want to be presentable for his stunning man. 

“Akihito,” he could hear that deep voice perfectly. It was ingrained deep into his psyche, and was one of the best sounds Asami could ever make. 

Strong hands gripped his shoulder; fingers, calloused by pens and guns, delightfully dug into the taught flesh. For a moment, they stayed still, relishing in the closeness. Then, Asami’s fingers started to move. Akihito moaned loudly, the powerful fingers working through the knots. Electric jolts sparked all over his body, releasing tensions he did not know he carried. 

“Oohh…As-samiiii,” the boy groaned loudly. Those large hands slid down his arms as his lover pressed tender kisses on his red shoulder. His jeans were painfully tight, and every wiggle of his hips stirred his constricted cock. He was more than ready, nearly desperate. At this rate, he would not make it one round. “Oh please, Asami,” he exhaled lowly. 

He could practically hear the bastard’s triumphant smirk. The sound of his tenacious lover begging was music to his ears. He slid between the photographer’s spread legs. Dark denim was tugged off jutting hips, until his cock sprung out lively, the tip glistening with pearly precum. Thin fingers stroked up and down, teasing his balls before ghosting the over the pink tip. Asami had a signature way of sucking Aki off.

He would run this flat tongue on the underside of his boy’s cock, getting it nice and wet. Then he would massage those dark balls, rubbing them as he sucked Akihito down into his throat. 

His hips would buck wildly––did buck wildly––trying to thrust as far as he could into Asami. The fixer chuckled when Akihito’s mouth formed an ‘O’. A desperate keen formed somewhere near his voice box. He was always incoherent by this point. 

Still sucking harder than a Dyson vacuum, his tongue swirling near the base of his cock, Asami took two fingers, slicked with the boy’s own juices. He pinched and pulled and twisted Akihito’s nipples. Small fingers fisted into dark hair, sliding through gel and locking the man in place. His nipples throbbed in sync with his pulsating blood, flaring up like a match. The pain was intoxicating, making his cock strain and swell inside of the fixer’s talented mouth. 

When Akihito could take it no more––when he was so close to coming that he could almost see it––Asami pulled back. Grinning savagely, he blew oh so softly on the aching cock centimeters away from his face. The photographer’s hazy eyes snapped open. The cold air was not unpleasant, but it did stave off his orgasm. 

Akihito shook his head as he tugged on the fixer’s hair. Please, just a little more. Asami swooped back down, starting from the beginning and taking his time with his body. 

On the table, Akihito’s phone buzzed. No! He was so close, so so close and Asami was teasing him. He began to thrash frantically, yearning for the impending release. The ringing was annoying, distracting him from his magnificent lover. “Please,” he choked on his own breath. 

White spunk shot out. It might have arched in the air or just splattered on the table. Akihito had no idea. He collapsed back, chest heaving. His wrist was exhausted. Usually, he could get himself off much quicker. Stupid Asami, making him immune to anyone’s touches but the crime lord’s. Not fair. 

The photographer’s phone was still buzzing. He really had an annoying ringtone, he thought suddenly. Saho’s name flashed on the screen, and apprehension twisted in his gut. It was after eleven, so he assumed that the pregnant lady had already gone to bed. 

“Hello?” Please don’t be big news. No bad news, either. Something stupid about the wedding, or the wrong number. 

“Hey. It’s me.”

No duh. He did have caller ID. “What’s up?”

“I’m starving,” she chirped away, like a morning dove despite it being so late. “And I need something tangy.”

“Ookkkaayy,” he stood up and stretched. Holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder, he jumped slightly, pulling his jeans back up. “Do you want some of that cumin tea? Or I can whip something up.” Used to cooking for two and not eating until late into the night, he missed preparing big meals. Not that he would ever tell Asami. 

The woman on the other end chuckled. “No. I am running around the corner to an all night yaki imo stand. Best in town, and I thought you might want to tag along.” She was polite enough to phrase it like an invite, but the woman seemed to know he stayed cooped up in the penthouse when Asami was gone. Kou and Takato would visit, and he still went to work, but Akihito could pretend that Asami wasn’t knee deep in life threatening situations when he was home. As the time ticked by, he told himself that Asami would walk through the front door any minute. Any minute now…

Street food. Akihito brightened considerably. His prissy lover would grumble and pout if Akihito brought it home, preferring traditional sit-down meals. Pregnant lady for the win, she’d eat anything if the mood struck. “I’ll be there in five.”

He stumbled in his haste to get out of the condo. Foooodddd. Thankfully no one ever tried to bribe him. He would give up anything in exchange for some tasty ramen. 

*

Saho’s groan was salacious around her spoon. “Thises swoh good.”

He nudged her with his elbow. She had a habit of walking with her eyes closed, savoring every bite. Pretty soon, she would face plant into a street lamp. While hilarious, Kirishima would undoubtedly be pissed if he came home to a brain damaged wife. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Oh, please! I sneak out to get food all the time, especially when Kei works late. I could find my way home blind!”

He knew he liked Saho for a reason. Her heels clacked loudly on the hot pavement. It was unusually warm for early May, and the streets were quiet. The photographer assumed most folks were tucking their children in bed, or slugging through a nightshift job. “I thought pregnant women weren’t supposed to wear heels,” he took another bite of his sweet potato. She was right; it was scrumptious. 

“I’ve had to make some adjustments. And they aren’t very comfortable.”

“Then why wear them?”

“Fashion waits for no one, and I hate being the shortest person in the office.”

Women. He could not comprehend such vanity, but then no one was vainer than Asami. It must have been a rich people thing. The investigative journalist could sympathize with the short problem, however. He was one of the smallest people in the newsroom, and Mayeda would use his head as an armrest or ruffle his hair. Mayeda was not trying to be a jerk like Mitarai, but more like an older brother. Really, Akihito glanced at the tottering woman; he did not think she was that short. She was almost his height. 

“Stop right there,” a gun pressed into his side. 

Akihito froze. A strong grip on his arm pulled him into the dark mouth of the alley. Saho quickly followed, the echo of her footsteps reverberating in the dark. The man was dirty, his face smeared with something like tar, and his clothes were several sizes too big. His hands shook and he sniffed loudly as he leveled the gun at Saho’s swollen belly. 

“No!” Akihito stepped in front of her, his arms outstretched so she could not wrestle around him. She grabbed ahold of his wrist, as if she were going to pull him away from the dangerous dark. She hissed his name, but he focused the mugger. “Stay back,” the photographer sibilated. She had two people to think of. 

“Gimme your wallet!” the man hissed lowly. 

They were so close to the light, so close to the dimly lit street and some do-gooder who might intervene or call the cops. “Okay, okay,” the photographer nodded his head jerkily, and slowly lowered his arm. “I’m reaching into my back pocket, okay?”

“No sudden moves,” the robber waved the gun between them. 

“All right. Here you go,” he tried to keep his cool. Life-threatening situations were slowly become the norm for him, but usually Asami was nearby, backing him up. No matter how far his reach stretched, Asami could not cross time and space to rescue them now. Saho’s nails dug into his bare arm, and her moist breath was warm on his neck. Akihito finally grasped that she was part of Asami’s reach, his eyes and ears while the fixer was away. Like hell he would let a pregnant lady protect him. 

The man’s gaze locked on Saho’s death grip, her knuckles as white as teeth. They pulsed like stars, but Akihito realized belatedly that it was the streetlight catching on her ring. “And her ring. Bitch got a purse?”

“No!” Akihito gulped. Saho loved her ring, showed it to anyone who thought to ask. He supposed it was beautiful, and probably worth more than he made in a year.

“It’s fine,” Saho let go. The blood rushing back into his tingling arm was tepid against the muggy night. Dropping the ring into his torn glove, Akihito swore he saw her lower lip tremble as she held up both hands. “No purse.”

“Saho––”

“It’s just jewelry,” she cut him off. “It’s not worth our lives.” 

He fathomed what she was saying. Their lives. The baby’s life, for the gun was still pointed at her growing daughter.

The man fired a warning shot up into the air. They both jumped and then Saho doubled over, clutching her stomach protectively. Akihito found himself hunching over her, arms wrapped tightly around both of them. The thief used their distraction, disappearing like smoke into the inky black. 

“Come on,” the photographer tried to keep his voice from shaking as he helped Saho up right. He glanced down the alleyway, its darkness impregnable but smelling like death and decay. “Let’s get back to the building.”

“Okay,” Saho clutched his arm tightly, using it as a leash to steer him home. 

Their sweet potatoes lay on the ground, trampled underfoot as they quickly left. Akihito could hear sirens in the distance. Someone had heard the shot and called the police. Asami would know what happened by morning. 

*

“Drink this. It will make you feel better,” Saho thrust a steaming mug into his hands. This woman drank tea like Asami drank whiskey. 

“Thanks,” Akihito accepted the cup gratefully. It was sweet, and he found that the more he drank it with honey, the more he liked tea. “I don’t know why I’m so cold.”

“It’s the adrenaline,” Saho sat on the sofa across from him. “You’re going into a light shock, nothing life threatening, but it does take its toll on the body.”

“I guess,” he sipped the brew. It was not the first time he had seen a gun, or even the first time one had been pointed at him. But the thought of the shiny bullet embedding itself deep inside Saho, snuffing out the life of the baby sent him into a panic. And when he told her that, she smiled gratefully. 

“Thank you, Akihito. That is very kind of you,” she stirred her tea. 

They sat inside Saho’s parlor––for it was more upscale than an ordinary living room. He was actually surprised to see such femininity and extravagance in Kirishima’s living room. Most couples had asexual color schemes to satisfy both genders, but Saho accented her deep grays with a light blush and burgundy. It was sensual, but most definitely not something the stoic secretary would pick out if he were single. The couches were plush, sterling gray and the blush accent pillows were nestled in the crook of Akihito’s back. All the woods were dark cherry. Bookshelves were crammed with classical literature, and gold figurines. Car magazines littered the coffee table. He had no idea Kirishima liked cars, and by a copy of Magnum featuring an article on the latest Bugatti, there were baseball cards. Murakami Masanori and Suzuki Ichiro, complete with protective covers. Go figure. 

“This is a conversation I was hoping to save for a later time, when we were more familiar with each other,” Saho spoke, breaking him out of his wandering thoughts. 

“Huh?” he grunted, as eloquent as usual. Curiosity clashed with apprehension as she leaned back. A fat cat settled beside her, its head tucked just below the protuberant curve of her stomach, and it purred as loud as an airplane engine. Saho looked like a super villian. Maybe the Kingpin. Asami could take a few notes from her, just for drama’s sake. 

“I know you love Ryu, for which I am thankful. However, that endangers you more than his previous––” she pressed her hands over her tummy, as if covering her child’s ears, and mouthed, “––fuck buddies.”

So, maybe he snickered a teensy bit at that one. Saho was not threatening him away from Asami, and was still maintaining her no-swearing rule. 

She dropped her hands, grinning because Akihito was still relaxed. It was not going to be a painful conversation, whatsoever. “We all know how far Ryuichi will go to keep you safe.” They both winced at painful memories, dangerous raids or forays into enemy territory. Hong Kong was not the worst thing the lovers had suffered. “Now, more than ever, you have to be careful. Everything you do impacts him.”

He bristled at the touchy subject. “I’m not changing my life or giving up any freedom––”

“Yes, you are,” dark lips curled into a bloodcurdling snarl. “Because you’re getting married. There is no independence or selfishness in marriage, because there isn’t room for it. You are literally giving yourself away, and it is the most beautiful thing you can give in the world. So when you make decisions, you have to consider your partner.”

“Tell that to Asami,” the photographer huffed. He collapsed into the couch, arms crossed and tea forgotten. All Asami wanted to do was control. He was as flexible as a titanium rod.

“Trust me, kid, he always thinks of you. At least for the big stuff.” The young man perked up, his ears twitching as she rushed on. “Why do you think he hasn’t called you for two weeks? Why he has bodyguards follow you around, and why he destroys anyone who raises a finger against you? He does everything he can to protect you, and it is why you aren’t going to tell him what happened tonight.”

That had his attention. “That is not what I expected you to say at all,” the photojournalist admitted. 

She chuckled. “I didn’t think it would be. The men have enough on their plate as it is. The last thing they need to worry about is a random mugging.”   
“It was random, then?” Visions of Pushkin taunting Asami danced in his head, and thick bile rose in his throat. He made Asami vulnerable; Akihito finally understood what Saho was saying. It was his responsibility to keep the fixer safe, and that meant acting cautiously. 

“Heavens, no!” she waved her hand before pushing herself up. The cat fell off her lap, with a peevish sniff. This was going to be a lengthy conversation. Refills were necessary. “This will happen to you occasionally, so you’ll get used to it. It does, however, bring us to the heart of the issues: there are rules to being a part of Ryuichi’s inner circle.”

Akihito groaned. “I just learned the rules about being your client today! I don’t know if I have any more room in my head!”

“Hmm. I didn’t know I had rules,” the woman sounded genuinely surprised. 

“You do, according to your assistants. I bet Asami doesn’t know he has rules, either.” Which meant Akihito and the rest of the frickin’ world had them. It was starting to get overly complicated and stupid. As long as he did his best, did the rules really matter?

“Probably not. They are unspoken, so that might be why he is clueless. Personally, I think men are obtuse.”

Or the people in power did not know they were being handled by their subordinates––not that he would voice that thought. Saho struck him as a person who liked to be in control, so she would not take kindly to that observation. 

“Though they may seem obvious, I’m going to spell them out for you. That way, you will know for sure,” she picked up, tangent forgotten. 

“I’m listening,” he said gravely. Akihito knew they were important. The rules protected Asami, perhaps saving his life one day. This was going to be the most important thing Kirishima’s wife ever told him. 

“Never carry his address, phone number, any private information or ways to contact him. Ryuichi is a public figure, but people want to weasel into his personal life.” 

Yeah, like Sudoh Shuu. Groupies could be a bitch. “You have his phone number,” he protested. He knew, because he had seen her call the fixer. 

“He’s saved as one of my dry cleaners,” she flushed. “Not that he knows that. I’m terrible with phone numbers, or else I would just memorize it. I don’t even know Kei’s.”

“I’ll help you learn it,” Akihito promised. It was a rule, and she was breaking it. They could be accountable to each other. 

She nodded, not really listening to him. “Obviously, you don’t talk about Ryuichi. People will ask you if you know him, for favors or to help set up meetings. You don’t know him––do you understand? Whoever it is will know it is a barefaced lie, and that is fine. Just keep repeating that you do not know him. If someone asks for information, they do not get it. No matter how life-threatening, or how painful the situation is, you don’t give it to them. That was what tonight was.”

“He was a bad guy?” Akihito gasped. 

“No. He was some junkie paid to steal our wallets. He had no idea who we were, or anything about whoever slipped him the ten thousand note. It was a quick way to make some cash.”

Hazel eyes glowed in the lowlight. “Someone was looking for Asami’s address.”

“Bingo,” sighed Saho. “They’ll never hurt you, and it will look like an ordinary mugging. We did not have what they wanted, and no one followed us home, so it is a dead end.”

Oh crap. He had not yet thought to check to see if they had a tail. The fat cat hopped off the couch. It hit the floor with an impressive thud that rattled the heavy mugs. Akihito winced. “How often has this happened to you?”

“I was on my third ring,” she admitted. “And I’ve been married to Kei for seven years.”

“How has he not noticed?” cried Akihito, sitting up quickly. The secretary was preternaturally observant. It was preposterous to think he would not notice his wife continuously getting mugged. Eventually a pattern would emerge. 

“Ehh,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “I commission another set, and if he asks, I tell him it’s getting cleaned. He’s only ever asked once.”

Sneaky. “What happened to honesty and doing everything for your partner?” He did not mean to sound accusatory, but the idea that Saho lied to Kirishima unsettled him. 

“I do it for Kei. He doesn’t need the extra stress. I probably worry too much about it, but I refuse to endanger my husband in anyway. Heart attacks and stress related health issues included.”

“Damn. That is a good reason,” he muttered, and clutched his cup tighter. 

“I know,” agreed Saho. “I assume that the men have different rules, though Kei and I have never discussed it. I know it is a lot to take in, Akihito, but it is important. We do it to protect our husbands.”

Husbands. Saho considered Asami his husband, and in just months, he would be. Reality exploded all around him at the implications. He was hopelessly in love with Asami Ryuichi, and would do whatever was necessary to keep him alive and safe. 

Just like Saho. 

And… “Is Suoh married?”

Saho laughed and laughed at that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah! 
> 
> It's done. I have no idea why, but I write this story slower than I do Sunshine. Wedding talk resumes next chapter. It is going to have some direction, Akihito makes some decisions and we are going to start seeing a little bit of the bridezilla in Asami. 
> 
> Your reviews, kudos, follows/bookmarks and favorites are always appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting this story!


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took so long to get this posted. Life is super crazy and then this chapter was being difficult. This chapter wrote itself, almost literally. I had an outline planned not just for it, but for the whole story. And it decided that it did not want to follow the outline, so now I have a predicament. 
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful Miyanoai. Though busy, she managed to get this back to me super quick!

Chapter Five:

“We need to make some decisions,” Saho told him over breakfast the next morning. They talked late into the night; Saho was much more forthcoming than Asami was about the fixer’s business. Akihito ended up sleeping in her guest room because the walk back to the penthouse seemed impossibly long at three in the morning. Saho lured him into the kitchen with cinnamon filled pastries covered in powdered sugar. Akihito gleefully followed his nose, only to find his wedding binder spread over the table. 

“Coffee?” he groaned, eyes blinking away the sleep. 

“On the table. Cream and sugar are there, too.”

Well, wasn’t she just the perfect hostess. 

“I’m sure that you and Ryuichi have had time to discuss it,” Saho prattled on, entirely too perky for the morning. Akihito had been sleeping poorly the past few weeks. His mind was racing, constantly conjuring up terrible scenarios of his lover in Kiev, and he also had a sudden increase of energy––undoubtedly because he was no longer subjected to his fiancé’s libido. “So you should have some ideas about his preferences.”

Uhm…no. Well, he did know that Asami’s family was traditional and would want a formal ceremony. The crime lord had done some muttering about getting Akihito into a bridal kimono and like hell he would let that happen. Asami did not seem to have a preference in terms of the food, so the photographer knew he could have a feast of great sushi and pocky at least. 

“Yeah,” he bit into one of the puffy pastries, moaning succulently. “These are amazing!” he exclaimed the moment he swallowed. “Did you make them?”

Saho snorted. “The bakery around the corner delivers. They make all of their food fresh every morning.”

Another thing to add to the list of wedding food. Oh! Maybe breakfast on the honeymoon. They would have to eat eventually. Or!––“Do they make cakes?” Akihito was stunned by his own brilliance. 

Saho’s mouth dropped. “I don’t know,” she gasped. “We can ask. They certainly do desserts.”

He nodded. “Sounds good to me. We’ll have to have the wedding in Japan then. I don’t want the desserts to go stale.”

She was writing furiously, her own breakfast pushed to the side. Her eyes did flick up at him when he announced that he wanted the wedding in Japan. “We’ll have to do a commitment ceremony then, before Ryuichi adopts you.”

“Sounds good to me,” the photographer dipped his pastry into his coffee. Best decision ever. If Asami wanted a real marriage, he could kidnap Akihito and they would elope. A ceremony in Japan meant his friends could come. Takato was too proud to have Asami fly him and his wife halfway across the world. Akihito knew his parents–his father especially, would not like it either. 

“Clear some time in your schedule next week, or the week after. We need to look at venues,” Saho rubbed her forehead with one hand. “They book fast.”

Like Asami wouldn’t make a venue reschedule another wedding if the date was already booked. In consideration of other brides who were not backed by a billionaire fixer, he would listen to Saho. “What about Asami?”

Saho flipped through one of the binders two feet down the table “I’ll send you home with some brochures so he can look at them too. He is more than welcome to come with us. I just assumed that he has a busier schedule than you.”

“Ouch,” Akihito put a hand to his chest. 

“Ehh,” she shrugged. “The next big thing is the date. I know you want spring, but the date depends somewhat on what the venue has available. Do you know roughly what month you would prefer?”

“End of March or early April,” he replied. Right in the heart of spring. 

Another note was made. “Then let’s look at invitations next. I usually recommend on waiting to pick your wedding attire until you have a venue. Unless you have a vision of how you want to look, that is,” Saho stopped suddenly, and looked at him expectantly. 

“I’m not some bimbo,” he snapped. 

She bit her lip. “Ryuichi did mention something about kimonos––”

“No!” Akihito shouted. She stopped talking, eyes wide as he vehemently shook his head. “No kimonos. Tuxes. Or jeans. Jeans would be even better.”

“No kimonos,” she lightly chuckled and struck through a note. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, wondering when she had talked to Asami. That note looked new… “I doubt Ryuichi will do jeans, kid. Now, if we do a beach wedding, we could get him into some casual linen,” Saho was muttering to herself more than Akihito. 

The photographer just nodded. He was pretty sure that spring was too cold for a beach wedding, but he had learned to stay quiet when Saho had these little tangents. 

“You aren’t having a theme, right?” Kirishima’s wife cut off her own train of thought, making her tongue twist and her words come out in a stutter. 

“Like under the sea or starry night?” He had flashbacks to terrible high school dances. 

“Wedding themes are generally a bit more subdued, but that’s the right idea.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Can we keep it classy and simple?” He thought it might be asking too much, considering that it was Asami and Saho spearheading the wedding, but he could try. 

“We can go a more minimalist route, most definitely. It was going to be classy no matter what. 

A wide grin spread across his face. “Awesome,” Akihito slapped a high five into her hand. “This wedding stuff isn’t too bad, you know. I mean, it is a lot of work,” he amended when he saw her offended look. “But once we start talking, I know what I want. You know?’

“No,” she answered honestly. “You’re being easy. Give it a few months, and you’ll be a bridezilla. Just like the rest of them.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “Like that could ever happen.”

*

“How goes the wedding talk?” Takato passed Akihito a frothing mug. They were sitting in Obaasan’s restaurant, in one of the private rooms. His friends wanted to take him out for his birthday, since Asami was MIA. 

“Pretty good, actually,” the birthday boy took a sip of his bear. “It’s a lot more complicated than I thought it would be.”

Takato chuckled. “I remember. I was lucky, though. Rinka did most of it herself.” Rinka was Takato’s wife. She was a few years older than the twenty-five year old, but was head over heels for her husband. She was originally Takato’s boss, but when they started darting, he switched companies. 

“Asami’s making me the bride in all of this,” the photographer grumbled. “He wants me to plan it all.”

“I’m sure he’ll be impressed when he gets home,” Takato tried to placate his friend. 

“Yeah!” Kou plopped down beside the blond. “He’s been gone for a long time!” His head rolled to the side, and his beer sloshed as he scooted up next to Takato. “Like a really looooooonnnnggggg time!”

“Kou!” Takato hissed a warning, but the brunette paid it no mind. 

“Whadda was he doin’ over theerree?” Kou slurred. “Surriously,” he giggled. “It’s gotta be somethin’ HUGE!”

“It’s nothing,” Akihito cut Kou off mid rant, his hazel eyes wide. “Just something to do with a factory.”

“Oh,” Kou deflated. 

The door slid open, and Rinka walked in with a large cake. Lit candles circled the perimeter, and a bright green 25 glowed in the center. “Happy birthday, Aki!” she sang out loudly.” Her sister was beside her, carrying paper plates and napkins.

“You guys!” the photographer laughed as a rosy blush bloomed on his cheeks. “You shouldn’t have!”

“This is nothing compared to the party you had for me,” Takato slapped Akihito on the back. 

“This is humongous!” he exclaimed, delightedly rubbing his hands together. “There is no way I can––we can eat all of this!”

“I’m sure you can find a way,” a baritone voice drawled from the doorway. Akihito’s breath caught in his chest as fiery tingles coursed through his body. His eyes must have been deceiving him, but no––there he was: Asami Ryuichi in the flesh. He was wearing his customary three piece suit and shiny wing tipped shoes. His ebony hair was slicked back, a picture perfect Adonis as his gold eyes glittered. 

Akihito never had a better birthday present. 

“SURPRISE!”

Rinka and her sister, Kou and Takato were grinning and laughing. Saho, Kirishima and Suoh appeared out of nowhere, all looking smug. And then the private room was full of laughter and presents, and people all crammed in, elbows knocking together and voice talking over one another. And Asami––Asami freaking Ryuichi was sitting cross legged next to him, drinking cheap beer from a plastic cup. 

“You might want to close your mouth soon,” Asami whispered into his ear. “You’ll start catching flies soon.”

Akihito quickly closed his mouth and tried to wipe the gob smacked expression off his face. “You are here!” he gasped. It was two weeks of absenteeism and no contact, so Akihito should have been furious. But all he could think about was how Asami’s leg was pressed right against his. It had been so long and Akihito really didn’t expect him home until tomorrow. He couldn’t be mad when this was such an amazing surprise. 

“Of course,” Asami chuckled. “I couldn’t miss your birthday.”

He tried to press a chaste kiss to Akihito’s lips, but the birthday boy wasn’t in the mood for a quick peck. Tossing his arms around the crime lord’s neck, he shoved his lips against Asami’s. It was bestial and frantic, almost sloppy but that did not stop Asami from pulling Akihito flush against him, until he was all but on Asami’s lap. 

“Get a room!” chorused as Akihito pulled away. He was panting heavily, and his face was flushed. Asami’s eyes were glazed over, but on the whole, he looked as impeccable as ever. 

“Get some, Aki!” Kou hollered wolfishly. Grabbing a piece of sashimi, he lobbed it at his best friend. Unfortunately for the drunken Kou, his aim was a little off. The projectile landed on Asami’s face, just below his eye. 

Kou’s mouth dropped in horror as Asami slowly reached for his napkin. Apparently, his keen mind could not process that he was the victim of a food fight. Kirishima and Suoh did not move or blink or even breathe as they waited for their boss’s reaction. Akihito, however, doubled over as he clutched his gut. His face was contorted as he laughed a deep belly laugh, his chest rolling. He kept hitting Takato’s arm as he chortled loudly. His friend snickered, but it was Saho who joined in Akihito’s fit. 

“Don’t make me laugh!” she cried between giggles. 

The photojournalist pointed at her, but he was laughing too hard to say anything. Asami looked thoroughly put out at being the butt of the joke. 

“You’re gonna make me wet my pants!” the pregnant lady howled. 

Akihito tried to compose himself, taking several calming breaths as he helped his fiancé wipe off his cheek. “You’re lucky your pout is cute,” he kissed the rest of the sashimi away. 

“I was not pouting,” Asami put his hand on Akihito’s thigh. It sent a rushing warmth through him. 

“I’m so sorry!” Kou’s face was cherry red. “I didn’t mean to! I swear!”

“Yeah, he can’t help that he has no arm!” Takato laughed. 

Akihito snickered as he shook his blond head. Asami squeezed his limber thigh. “Keep laughing, birthday boy,” his said softly into his little lover’s ear. Louder, he graciously answered. “It’s fine, I assure you.”

Saho whispered something into her husband’s ear that made the secretary smile gently. Rinka watched the exchange, fascinated. 

“Here, I’ll even the score,” Takato winked at the crime lord. Picking up a tuna roe, he squished it on Akihito’s face. The photographer shrieked in surprise, the eggs bursting in a sticky mess. Even Asami guffawed at his stunned expression. 

“I didn’t do anything to you!” Akihito protested vehemently, using the back of his hand to wipe off his cheek. Reaching back, he grabbed the first piece of food he could reach. Flinging it quickly, it sailed through the air to land splat in the center of Takato’s forehead. His mouth dropped as the wasabi slowly slid between his eyes. 

That was when the food fight started in earnest. 

*

“Happy birthday, kitten,” Asami pressed a kiss to his forehead later on in bed. 

The birthday boy was purring as he snuggled into Asami’s chest. Hazel eyes were squeezed shut as he kissed the crime lord’s chest. They had several leisurely rounds of lovemaking before falling side by side. It was the best birthday present Akihito could ever get: quietly falling asleep while his lover cradled him adoringly. 

“It was a great night,” he whispered into the darkness. 

“One of many to come,” his love promised. 

*

Asami spent most of the next week lounging in the condo, working from home. Running an empire apparently did not require a suit or tie. Even Suoh and Kirishima were dressed casually when the stopped by. The guards that brought paperwork or worked security were fresh faces. Also, Asami was memorizing his schedule and helping him pack his equipment. Once, he even drove Akihito to his shoot. 

On the whole, it was nice having Asami home more often. 

And then came the day of his appointment with Saho. Akihito knew that Asami had been itching to get his hands on the wedding binder. Akihito mentioned briefly that some of the details were finalized. The fixer instantly demanded to know the burgeoning plans. 

“You’ll have to wait until Thursday,” Akihito staunchly refused to enlighten him. He was putting a surprising amount of effort into their wedding, and he wanted Asami to know that he was taking it seriously. 

The fixer knew that he was not budging on the issue, and Kirishima was either unable or unwilling to extort information from his wife, so Asami was reduced to trying to steal the binder. Akihito caught him twice. There was absolutely no way Asami could talk himself out of this one, either. Fortunately, Akihito had hidden the illusive binder in the last place Asami would look for it. 

In Saho’s apartment. 

The limo ride was quiet. They were meeting Saho at a new restaurant that Asami was opening. The grand opening was scheduled for the following night, so they were taste testing the menu one last time. Plus, it let Saho review the opening event as well as the wedding. 

They would go over the wedding last: revenge for the two week absence. 

*

“We’re keeping with the menagerie theme,” Saho flipped the pages a thick binder. “Everything is going to be peacock. Mariato did leopard and giraffe at his previous two galas, so we aren’t touching those.”

Akihito could only stare at the party details. He was mistaken if he thought his wedding binder was full. The grand opening one could barely close. His fingers itched to flip through the pages. Saho’s obsession with details was impressive, but he was flabbergasted that there was that much involved in an event. If every page was necessary, it made the binder a lifeline. There was no way one person could remember all of it. 

He wondered how full the wedding binder would be when all was said and done. He might need to have a talk with Asami. They probably needed to define minimalism and simple. 

*

Asami took his time going through the binder’s pages. Gold eyes absorbed every detail, while Saho contentedly ate éclairs. Kirishima was not part of this gathering, and neither was Suoh. Lucky ducks. Akihito’s palms were slicked with sweat as he waited for the verdict. 

“You’ve opted for adoption,” he said at last, his gaze narrowing as he read the ceremony outline. 

“Yeah,” Akihito swallowed the swelling lump in his throat. “I thought it would be easier for my friends and family to come.”   
“I see,” Asami’s wrist flicked as he made a note. He would have Saho find a honeymoon destination where they could marry legally. He wanted the photographer to be his in every way possible. “Then you will be taking my last name.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” the photographer cut through one of his dumplings.

“And of course you’ll give up crime photography,” the fixer signaled for another brandy. “You can’t be investigating criminal organizations with a last name like Asami.”

“Then maybe I won’t take your last name,” Akihito snatched the iced booze off the waiter’s tray before Asami could get it. He tossed it back quickly, coughing as the alcohol burned the back of his throat. Blinking back tears, he snarled viciously, “I’m not giving up my career because of a new last name!”

“We’re getting married,” the fixer reminded him. “You have to take my name.” He did not mention the possibility of taking Takaba as a surname. It was ludicrous to even entertain the idea. Takaba Ryuichi did not strike fear into the hearts of men the way Asami did. 

“Saho’s last name is Urara,” the criminal photographer pointed across the table. “And she’s married!”

Both men looked at the pregnant coordinator who hastily swallowed her water. “Legally, my last name is Kirishima,” she said somewhat apologetically. 

“Ugh!” Akihito threw his hands up into the air as his smug lover smirked. 

“You will be Asami Akihito,” he drawled. There would be no more discussion, nor any doubt to whom he was married to. “When will you be looking at venues?”

“Starting next week,” Saho answered while Akihito fumed silently. “He’s thinking somewhere scenic with a view.”

Asami nodded. “I can arrange transportation,” he agreed. And maybe a doctor on standby too, just in case the baby came early. 

Akihito pushed away from the table. The wood scraped against floor, making everyone wince. “I don’t work for you,” he hissed, hands balled in tight fists and opaque tears welling in his eyes. “A marriage is supposed to be a partnership, not me doing whatever you want without any say! I don’t want to marry you if this is what it’s going to be like.”

“Akihito,” Asami was pushing away from the table but his lover was too fast. He turned, arms pumping and legs spinning. He could hear Saho shouting his name, and Asami ordering people to stop him. However, he was sinewy, slipping between servers and out the kitchen door before any goon could stop him. He was down the street, and around the corner, guard-less and free for the first time in two years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the next chapter will come out sooner. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the support! Hopefully everyone's new year is starting out great and that we are all keeping our resolutions!


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a shout out to, you guessed it, Miyanaoi. She is officially the best beta in the world. Ever. No doubt about it. 
> 
> In case you haven't read Am I Pretty, I will tell you why I was gone for so long in the end notes. If you've read it, feel free to skip the last part!
> 
> Enjoy.

Chapter Six:

He just needed some space to breathe––to think. It wasn’t that this was a new fight, but rather the crux of their relationship. Asami’s need to dominate clashed with Akihito’s independent nature, and it seemed that they were doomed to fight this battle as long as they were together. They would fight and then fuck until Asami got his way. The bastard once said that he loved Akihito’s fighting spirit, but he also loved to devour and consume it. 

Keeping his head ducked until he could snag a baseball cap to cover his trademark hair, the photographer was content to wonder downtown Tokyo. He knew Asami would send men out to look for him, and it was only a matter of time before he was caught. The fixer would be furious, and the sex would be a painful punishment. The last thing he wanted was for Asami to touch him. He did not want to look at the jerk, much less be in the same room as him 

Akihito knew that he cared for the man, loved him though he had not said it out loud. He was sure that beneath Asami’s brutish, possessive exterior, the fixer felt some emotion that echoed love for Akihito. Perhaps even love itself. They were getting married after all, and Asami Ryuichi was not one to do something unless he wanted to. Yes, the emotion was there but it took more than love to make a relationship work. 

Marriage was a partnership, which meant compromises. Akihito could not let Asami absorb him, until he was as will-less as a shadow. He hadn’t even agreed to marry his lover. There had been a night of Freudian slips and mind blowing sex. The next morning, Asami announced that they were picking out rings and he had an appointment with Saho very next week. 

Akihito certainly meant what he said at the restaurant: he did not want to marry Asami Ryuichi if they stayed in their old patterns. They would grow to resent each other if that happened. There would be fights and affairs, and one day, Asami would put a bullet between his eyes. 

He kept walking, trying to sort out his thoughts. One thing was for sure: the photographer would not seek refuge at Kou’s. That was the first place that Asami would look. 

*

Saho sat across from him, patiently waiting for him to speak. He had ended his phone call to Suoh nearly five minutes before. Men were dispatched and the rogue photographer would be in the condo before sundown. 

“You have something on your mind,” Asami threw back another brandy. Her only comment was an arched eyebrow when he ordered his fifth. His liver was going to hurt in the morning. “We’ve spoken honestly to each other in the past.”

“I am just surprised that you aren’t joining the search,” she crossed her arms over her stomach. “You are typically a man of action.”

Asami glanced at the staff, who mulled about, trying to look busy. They were busy taking care of fake guests, trying to prepare for every scenario that could arise on opening day. He could tell that every ear strained to hear their conversation. “Akihito has a flashpoint tempter. He just needs some time to cool off.”

“Sparkling water with mint and cucumber,” Saho flashed a smile when their waiter came over to check on them. She waited until the server was speaking to the bartender before replying to her friend. “I can’t blame him for needing some time to cool off. I agree with you wanting him to quit criminal photography, but I think you should have added a little finesse into your persuasions.” She put it politely. 

“The delivery would not have changed the outcome,” Asami argued. He knew Akihito well. No matter how he told his lover that he wanted him to find a new career, Akihito would take it as an insult to his manhood, and rush towards the first story he could find. His lover responded to a firm hand, not mollycoddling. 

“I disagree,” she accepted her water with a nod. 

Leaning back in his cushioned chair, the crime lord crossed his legs. “You don’t know Akihito the way I do. He is the most headstrong person I have ever met.”

If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black. Saho shook her head as she answered him. “I understand your reasoning, Ryuichi. I agree with you actually. I don’t think he understands.”

“Akihito doesn’t take the time to consider the implications of his job, or my intentions. He jumps to conclusions and runs headfirst into chaos.”   
“He harkens back to you, when we were young.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Asami drawled. “We are still young. But even then, I was nothing like Akihito.”

Saho hummed in disbelief. 

“I won’t explain the details,” Asami countered her reproachful look. “But our trips to Hong Kong were vastly different, mainly because Akihito didn’t think before he acted.”

Saho winced. Hong Kong had been a bad trip for her as well. Kirishima had been shot and she had miscarried. “Not your best example, but I see your point.”

The crime lord nodded. She kept talking. “However, if Kei ever spoke to me the way you did to Akihito, I would have slapped him with divorce papers.” Asami bristled, and she held up her hands. “That’s all I’m going to say, Ryuichi.”

“Good,” the golden eyed man stood. “I believe that I have taken up enough of your time,” he dismissed her smoothly. “I know that you have other clients to see. Would you like a ride back to your office?”

“No, but thank you,” she took his hand as he helped her stand, like any gentleman would. “I’ll walk back.”

He arched an eyebrow. She had to be kidding. It was warm outside for mid May, and her office was several miles away. Kirishima would forbid it if he knew. “I am afraid I must insist, Saho.”

“You may insist, but my answer won’t change.” The obstinate woman started for the door. “I know exactly what is going through Akihito’s head, even if you don’t. And he might not realize it, but he wants you to chase him.”

That had not even been a topic of conversation. He doubted very much that Akihito wanted Asami to be the one to find him. He was actually the last person his little lover wanted to see. “I highly doubt that.”

“He would appreciate the effort. Trust me.” When he still looked skeptical, she handed him her purse and the two event binders. “He wants you to chase him. That’s what lovers do. But if you want to go home, feel free to do so.” 

“I have never chased anyone,” Asami informed her as he gave her things to one of his men. He had hunted them down, but never gave chase. He paid people to do the running around. 

“Now is a good time to start,” Saho pulled him away from the air conditioned limo. “Start walking.”

“Kirishima will be displeased when he finds out that we spent an afternoon walking around downtown,” Asami reminded her. 

“You let me worry about Kei,” Saho walked close beside him. They linked arms, walking like escorts at a ball. “You just concentrate on finding that boy of yours.”

*

Without even trying to, Akihito found himself in front of their building. Even when he was trying to avoid the fixer, the photographer always found his way back to Asami Ryuichi, like a dog that would faithfully return to his master’s side. That made him angry. So much for the independence he never shut up about if Akihito could not even subconsciously escape his lover. It had been hours since he stormed out of the restaurant to wander the streets aimlessly while he tried to keep an unpredictable pattern. He needed every spare second he could to think, and it was time well spent. 

He was going to level with Asami. Either they were going to do this right, and try to act like two consenting adults, or he was done with the relationship. He was twenty-five, and tired of playing games with the man he loved. It was do or die for their relationship. 

Akihito squared his shoulders. The doorman had already spotted him, which meant Asami would soon know that he had surfaced. Good. It meant that he would come back home, probably angry, but his mind would be on the matter at hand. Akihito just had to start talking before Asami got him naked. He started to cross the street, hands shoved in his pockets, when something in the alley caught his eye. 

“Takaba-san!” Souji called from the door as the blond walked swiftly into the alleyway. Thankfully, he could not leave his post, so Akihito’s curiosity could be sated without interference. Because he could not have seen what he thought he had. 

“Ouch!” a high, almost adenoidal voice squeaked. 

Yup. He had just seen some socialite dumpster dive. Akihito rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Dumpster diving wasn’t something rich women did. If they accidentally threw something away, they bought a new one. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes, he saw two pale legs crowned by pink high heels kicking in the air.

“Uhh…excuse me?” the photographer raised his hands slightly, even though the girl couldn’t see it. 

“Ahhh!” the girl screamed in surprise. She sat up quickly, tossing a full black trash bag over her head. Her hair was dark and cut in a modern bob. She was beautiful, dressed to the nines and digging through garbage. The disconnect was painful to look at. “I swear, I’m allowed to be here,” she pulled a piece of paper out of her hair. 

“Are you okay?” she had to have been crazy. Even Akihito didn’t climb into dumpsters unless it was a life or death situation. 

“No,” she raked her fingers through her hair, and dropped to her knees. “Not really.”

“What’s wrong?” It was probably serious, then. The girl looked close to tears as she started ripping open another garbage bag. 

“I accidentally threw away my boyfriend’s favorite tie,” she confessed, nearly hysterical. Her voice cracked as she shook her head. “It was his favorite. His mom gave it to him after he opened up the first branch of his offices.”

He was back to thinking she was crazy. It was an old tie, and from the sound of it, it needed to be replaced. Unless her boyfriend had started his own business within the past three years. Even still, just buy him a new one. 

“He’s going to kill me. I just know it!” the girl wailed. She quickly tore into a third bag. 

“Here, let me help,” Akihito said without thinking. Grabbing the edge of the dumpster, he hoisted himself over and into the mess. 

“Thanks,” she sniffed loudly, sounding like a giant pity party. She wiped her weeping eyes with the back of her wrist. 

“My name is Takaba Akihito,” he said after a few minutes of silent digging. 

“Kamata Godi,” the socialite answered. “Do you live here?”

He nodded. Wincing as he grabbed an orange peel, he tossed it over his shoulder. “With my fiancé. I have weird hours though. I’m a freelance photographer. What about you?” 

“Oh no. It’s too ritzy for me,” God replied with a reluctant shake of her head. “My boyfriend does though.”

“Then how do you know that you threw away his tie?” Akihito asked.

The girl flushed. “We were …being intimate…” she trailed off. 

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s personal,” Akihito quickly reassured her. “I’m not trying to creep or anything.”

Godi gave up on her current bag of trash. She flushed as she moved on to another. “I called the laundry rooms, because I was supposed to have it washed. Apparently, they said it was ruined and they threw it away. Now I have to find it.”

“He can’t be upset with you,” Akihito tried to soothe her. “This obviously isn’t your fault, and you’re trying to find it for him.” 

Godi shook her head. “I need to take better care of his things. It got dirty while we were being…intimate…” she flushed prettily, “…so I had to send it to the cleaners. I don’t want you to think I’m a pervert.”

Akihito snorted. Women. It wasn’t like she was the only one who had ever had kinky sex. “Trust me. There is nothing you could say that would surprise me.”

Godi flinched away from him, eyes wide. “Are you––?”

“Not me,” Akihito quickly interrupted, hands out in front of him. “My fiancé likes the kinky stuff.”

Godi visibly relaxed, and the photographer could not help but feel insulted. It wasn’t like kinky stuff was taboo or bad. Everybody had some sort of fetish. Staying in the vanilla missionary position would get soooooooo boring. “I didn’t know that women could be like that,” she admitted, eyed downcast. Akihito didn’t bother correcting her. Homosexuality was still not fully accepted in Japan, and he really did not want to start up a political argument. “Though it makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” Akihito asked, not out of curiosity, but because he wanted to keep his mind off the putrid refuse he was sifting through. 

“My boyfriend’s past girlfriend cheated on him,” said Godi softly. “I used to work for her, you see. I called her once, and when she answered, she was having sex with another man. I heard everything, even though she tried to keep quite.”

Akihito would have been repulsed, except he had a feeling that Asami would get off on it, too. Nonetheless, cheating was never acceptable. Plus, it was kind of weird that Godi had ended up with her boss’s ex-boyfriend. At least he knew why the boyfriend lived in a ritzy place and she did not. Maybe his family did not approve of their relationship. 

*

It had been years since Asami had pursued a target on foot. He privately admitted that Saho was right: the hunt was much more fun when he was physically chasing his wayward lover. 

Saho walked comfortably beside him. She did not prattle on like most women, for which was he was extremely grateful. Her heels were lower than he remembered them being, yet they still clicked on the pavement. Her couture dress and his suit stood out among the crowd. The people who saw them parted, letting them through as if they were royalty. Most of the bustling throng did not see them immediately, forcing Asami to take Saho’s arm so that they would not be separated.

He had forgotten how impassible the streets of Shinjuku were. The crowds looked like nothing from his tower above the clouds. Standing in the heart of it, he felt it move like a current, ebbing and flowing, pulling him wherever the stream went. 

“How are you feeling?” Asami asked the woman. He wanted constant updates on her condition, just in case. No one had thought to tell Kirishima yet, because neither of their phones had rung. The moment his secretary did call him to demand an explanation, Asami was putting her in the car. The limo slowly trailed after them, guards whispering at this sudden turn of events. This was a side of the boss they had never seen before. 

“I feel fine,” Saho answered pleasantly. It was nice to take a stroll without her husband and assistants hovering over her. The sun was out, the day was glorious, and she could smell churros. 

She wanted a churro, needed a churro. 

“Ohishi has the car two minutes away,” Asami reminded her. “Your husband will kill me if I let you walk yourself into early labor.”

Kei was such a worrywart. “I’m ready for her to get here. Labor would be a blessing at this point.”

Not to Kirishima it wouldn’t be. The man wanted to be present for every aspect of the pregnancy. They had tried so long for a child, and he did not want to miss a minute of it, bad days included. 

“Just tell me if anything changes,” Asami told her. 

“Mmhmm. I will,” Saho said dismissively. She patted his forearm affectionately. “Do you have any idea where Akihito might have gone?” The deliciously greasy smell was gone now, as was her craving. The baby was still, having been lulled to sleep by her walking. She sniffed the air, wondering what other foods nearby vendors might have.

No. Asami’s men had already scoured his friends’ homes, his work, and his favorite bar. Akihito had learned many tricks while being Asami’s lover, and had disappeared in the city. He knew that they would search the obvious places, so he was avoiding them. The boy was smart, and he moved quickly. That made the chase that much harder, but infinitely more exciting. Lust pooled in his lower gut. Though he was not fond of Akihito’s outbursts and temper tantrums that made him run all over the city, Asami Ryuichi always enjoyed the brutal climaxes that resulted from hours of pursuit. Reminding Akihito just to whom he belonged, who he loved, who his master was, always made him hard. It was going to be a good night when Asami got his photographer back in his arms. 

In his pocket, his phone vibrated. The fixer put it to his ear immediately, his voice hard but neutral. It wasn’t Kirishima’s number that flashed on the screen. “Asami,” he answered and tensed when he heard the report.

*

“Phew,” Akihito sighed. He was pretty much over helping Godi. He had combed through like ten bags of stuff, and there was no tie to speak of. Godi would have to confess to her boyfriend, or buy him a new tie. It was just a tie, after all, not the cure to cancer. The guy probably had a dozen more. He could live without one.

“I found it!” Godi exclaimed to his right. 

The photographer quickly turned around. She held aloft a silk pinstripe tie of lavender and dark gray. It looked familiar to Akihito, but Godi’s face was jubilant. “Thank goodness! He’ll never notice it was gone.” 

Akihito wasn’t so sure about that. The tie had split down the seam, its white innards spilling out. They must have had quite the crazy night for it to––

“He can’t be upset now,” Godi jumped to her feet as she sighed in relief. Brushing the debris off her fuchsia skirt, she grimaced at the brown stains that had soaked into the fabric. Oh well, she shrugged her shoulders. At least she held her prize. 

Akihito hopped down from the dumpster, his entire body tense. Of course he recognized that tie. Asami had tied him up with it on Tuesday, after one too many cheeky witticisms. Akihito had been shocked that he had been able to tear the tie. Asami’s were always ultra-expensive and high end. But, if his mom had given him that one––

No! It wasn’t possible. Godi’s boyfriend just happened to have the same tie with the same rip. Pure coincidence. Because he did not know what it would be otherwise. 

Godi followed him to the front of the building. She wrapped the tie around her hands, pulling the rent silk tight. Akihito briefly feared that she would try to go inside with him. If she didn’t live there, if only her boyfriend did, then she was technically not allowed to be inside unescorted. 

“Takaba-san,” the doorman exclaimed when Akihito rounded the corner. He looked relived to see that, though dirty, the photographer was unharmed. 

“Oh drat,” Godi looked at the tie. “It’s ripped. I must have pulled too hard on it.” So much for the embarrassment she had moments before about kinky sex. Was she being selectively prudish now, or did she not think Akihito could hear her?

It did not change the fact that she must have pulled too hard on the tie. There was no way that it was Asami’s, no way that it was Akihito who had ripped it. Because it was impossible for her to have known that the tie had been thrown out. Akihito had not even been the one to do the deed. He had been embarrassed that he had ruined one of Asami’s ties, and tried to have it sent to the resident seamstress. His lover told him not to bother with it. Asami would just have Kirishima buy another one. Akihito had been persistent, and it was not until the geriatric seamstress shook her head, saying that not even she could mend the torn fabric, did he relent. She had been the one to actually throw the tie away. 

“There you are,” Hibiki burst through the revolving glass doors. He had his phone up to ear, his thick eyebrows furrowed as he locked eyes with Akihito. “He’s here,” the assistant quickly reported. “Oh fuck…”

Akihito bristled. Hibiki was obviously on the phone with Saho. Asami must have had all of Japan looking for him. He opened his mouth to snap at the tawny haired man when Hibiki swore. That shut him up before he even got started. 

Godi did not notice the disbelieving look that Hibiki was sending her, or the doorman’s watchful gaze. She stared intently at the tie in her hands. “I guess I’ll have to patch it first,” she muttered to herself. 

If it was her boyfriend’s tie, it would be cheaply made, and therefore, easy to mend. The seamstress said that Asami’s tie could not be fixed. Ergo, it definitely had to be Godi’s boyfriend’s tie. 

Hibiki lowered his phone. Saho’s name flashed quickly on the screen as he put it to speaker phone. “No need to say anything, Akihito-san,” he said loudly. It was code for Saho to shut up, and Akihito still in apprehension. Something was wrong. “I have been looking for you everywhere. Who’s your friend?”

That finally had Godi’s attention. She tore her gaze from her prize to really look at Hibiki. “How do I know you?” she sounded accusatory.

“This is Kamata Godi,” interrupted Akihito. “We just met. She lost something, and I helped her find it.”

“While you are a Good Samaritan, you are late for your appointment,” Hibiki roughly grabbed his arm and started to pull him down the street. “We need to hurry. The venue will close soon.”

“What?” Akihito squeaked, which was very unmanly. He had no idea what Hibiki was talking about. Venue? Appointment? He had cancelled his photoshoot before turning off his phone so that Asami could not get a track it with GPS. And he had nothing else planned for the day.

“Thank you for your help, Akihito!” Godi called politely. “I really appreciate it!”

Akihito waved over his shoulder but could not reply because Hibiki was shoving him into a cab. “Ouch!” he snapped when his head collided with the roof. 

Hibiki wasn’t paying attention. “Did you hear that?” he pressed the phone to his ear. “Yes,” Saho must have said something to him “I don’t think so.”

Another pause. Akihito rubbed his head dolefully, but stayed quiet. He strained to hear what the woman was saying on the other end of the phone. She must not have liked Godi, because Hibiki’s face was contorted, his eyes solemn as he listened to his boss chew him out. “We are heading back to the office now. No, I don’t think she recognized me.”

Saho something else, but Akihito could not hear any of it. “Okay,” Hibiki replied. “We’ll see you soon.”

“What’s going on?” Akihito demanded the moment he disconnected the call. “Who was that? What’s the big deal?”

“Saho said you were a trouble magnet, and it’s my fault I didn’t believe her,” Hibiki muttered. He looked crossly at the photographer, as if blaming him for the entire day’s misfortune. Akihito bristled. He thought that was unfair. He didn’t start the fight with the fixer, and he did nothing wrong by helping a crying woman out, even if it meant getting dirty. That was probably what pissed the assistant off. “You’re just a few years younger than me, so I was sure that she was exaggerating. Then out of every-fucking-body in Tokyo, you manage to run into Kamata Godi.”

“Who is she?” Akihito demanded again. As far as he could tell, she was just a vapid, rich idiot. While not necessarily a good thing to be, it wasn’t a crime. 

Hibiki’s face darkened as the car turned. It was in the middle of rush hour, so progress towards Saho’s workplace was slow. They had plenty of time to have this conversation. “It isn’t really my place to say. I can assure you, that she is trouble.”

Well wasn’t that just ominous and foreboding. Maybe she was an assassin, who worked for someone like Pushkin or Feilong. She could have been an enemy of Saho’s, some not as talented party planner who tried to take over Saho’s monopoly. That would explain why Hibiki and she knew each other. If she was his fiancé’s secret daughter, Akihito was going to flip his shit. He would save the probing for Asami, who would most certainly answer him if he ever wanted to get laid again. 

“How did you find me?” he asked a question that the assistant could answer. 

“I wasn’t looking for you,” replied the man. His phone lit up. Merav had texted. “I had to drop off the binders to Saho’s home office.”

Binders? “You mean the ones being used to plan the wedding?” Akihito asked. The super secret things that Saho kept under lock and key because she was paranoid. 

“Yes. Saho and Asami-sama left the restaurant on foot. I was sent to collect them, and return them safely to her home.”

“You bumped into me by accident?” Akihito’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. After his daring escape, it was such an anticlimactic way to be found. 

“Yes,” Hibiki answered him absentmindedly. His fingers quickly typed out his answer to Merav. His snarl relaxed slightly as his eyes lit up.

If Akihito had something to throw, he would have hit Hibiki like ten minutes ago. The snotty assistant was not being helpful at all. He crossed his arms and pouted. “Why did they walk?” His bastard of a lover did not do any sort of manual labor that Akihito had ever seen. If it wasn’t undignified, the photographer suspected that he would make his minions carry him places on a palanquin. 

“They were looking for you,” Hibiki quickly read Merav’s reply.

Looking for him? Akihito was still pissed that Asami was controlling and never asked his opinion on anything. But the thought of the man skiving off a half day of work to chase his lover across the city made Akihito feel loved. Not that he would ever tell Asami that. Warmth pooled in his gut, and though he thought that his lover was a bit neanderthaloid during their courtship, he liked the idea of Asami chasing him. It made him feel wanted, and it was a pleasant sort of feeling. 

*  
Kirishima was the first to reach the offices. He paced back and forth, even after Akihito entered the plush conference room. Hibiki prudently withdrew, bowing to his boss’s husband. Akihito could feel the anger pulsating off the secretary as he sat in a comfy chair. He tried to make himself as small as possible. The four eyed man occasionally glared at him, but said nothing as he continued to pace, his hands interlocked behind his back. 

The times slowly dragged by. Each second lasted a minute, and each minute an hour. There was not a clock on the wall for Akihito to check the time, and he was too scared of Kirishima to reach for his phone. The secretary looked frazzled already, and sudden movements might startle him like a wild animal. It was making Akihito nervous. Something big must have happened, and he was afraid. At the moment, he wanted to see Asami. To run his hands over his lover and make sure that he was okay. 

Any happiness that he felt when he thought of the fixer chasing him across the city quickly dissipated. Asami cast a huge shadow, and many people wanted to hurt him. He was a sitting duck, out in the open with only Saho by his side. The photographer was going to give him a piece of his mind after he checked to make sure he was okay. 

Finally, Saho’s quick footsteps sound in sync with Asami’s. Kirishima was pulling the door open before they could touch it––and it surprised Akihito that it was not out of deference for Asami. Mrs. Kirishima walked in first, her gray eyes hard. Her husband immediately touched her face, her stomach, pulling her out of his boss’s path so he could get a good look at her. “Are you okay?” his voice was lower that Akihito had ever heard it. 

“I’m fine,” Saho grasped his calloused hands. “We’re both fine.” She looked down at her bulging stomach as well. That was when it clicked that Kirishima was worried about his child, and not his boss. Again, the photographer was surprised. 

“Akihito,” Asami stopped in front of him. 

Akihito looked up at his lover. “What happened?” he touched Asami’s forearm. “Are you okay?”

Asami’s gold eyes hardened. “I should be asking you that.”

“What do you mean?” Akihito wrinkled his forehead. “Nothing happened to me.” Other than running in the streets of Tokyo alone. He wasn’t the one who had run into trouble, though. Neither Asami nor Saho looked like they were injured, or any worse for the wear. Maybe a little sweaty from the humidity.

Kirishima gave his boss a hard look. He was upset that Asami had let Saho walk for so many hours, even though they did rest. He said nothing, but Asami was intuitive enough to know. He would have to be careful over the next few weeks with what he allowed Saho to do for the wedding, so as to not stress her body or her husband’s nerves. 

“What was Godi doing when you met her?” Saho stepped slightly away from her husband. Kirishima’s grip on her arms tightened, so she did not get farther than a step. 

“Godi?” he sounded as puzzled as he felt. “The girl who’s got a boyfriend with a tie that looks like one Asami used to have?”

“What was she doing, Akihito?” Asami’s voice was hard, like the edge of a knife. His lover flinched, not used to the tone. Asami was furious, but it seemed like his anger was directed towards Godi. 

He stuttered over his words. “Looking through the garbage,” he swallowed loudly, suddenly afraid to look at anyone else in the room. “She lost her boyfriend’s tie…” he trailed off. He had already said that, and the words were now awkward. Her story had so many holes that he had noticed as she spoke, but he had not given it much thought. Now he wished he had been a little more discreet when talking to her. There was a chance he had said something that he should not have. His breath caught in his throat as he realized that she might be Asami’s enemy, not Saho’s.

“And she found one?” Asami prodded him. “One that looked like one of mine?”

Akihito nodded sheepishly. “It was identical to the one from last Tuesday,” he said lowly. Under normal circumstances, Saho would have made some snide comment and Asami would have smirked. Neither reacted to the innuendo, which worried Akihito even more. “What’s going on?” He asked though he already knew. “Was that your tie?”

“Most likely,” Asami slowly exhaled. 

“She’s found you again,” Saho let Kirishima sit her down in her chair. Only her preternaturally observant husband would notice that her back was hurting her and that her feet were swollen. Saho looked expectantly at Akihito. “Did you tell her who you were?”

“I…” he stuttered. “Yeah. I told her my name, and that I lived in the building. She said her boyfriend lived there, too, but not her.”

“Did you mention anything about Ryuichi?” she prodded. 

“No!” Akihito shook his head rapidly. He remembered the rules. Now that he knew them, he would never forget them––no matter what. “I told her I was engaged, but she just assumed it was a woman!”

Asami bristled, but kept right on surprising Akihito. “It was a good thing that you did not correct her. She wouldn’t think to connect you with me.”

“We’re going to have to move,” Saho interlocked her hands together, her pointer fingers outstretched and her arms on the table as she talked. “It’s not safe to stay anymore.”

“No,” Kirishima interjected. “We can double security and take precautions. I’m not moving you when our daughter’s due date is so near. Your body can’t handle the stress.”

“We don’t have a choice––” Saho started but Kirishima interrupted her. 

“This isn’t up for discussion, Saho. I’m not going to let you stress your body even more. The baby won’t be able to handle it.”

He turned and faced Akihito and Asami. “Even though she hasn’t connected Takaba to you, Asami-sama, I do think it best to move you both immediately. Now that she thinks Takaba to be her friend, she will be on the lookout for him. She will see him as her way into the building.”

Akihito could not believe his ears. Godi seemed like an idiot, completely incapable of doing serious harm. She went dumpster-diving in high heels, dammit! “This doesn’t make any sense!” he jumped to his feet. “What did she do to make you all freak out so much?”

Saho immediately met his gaze. Her upper lip quirked as she answered him. “She is obsessed with Ryuichi,” she was snarling. “She’s been stalking him for years.”

That had him sitting right back down. His mouth hung open, and his eyes bulged out of his head as he tried to process what she had just said. His mind reeled into a million different places. None of it made sense. Asami was a big, bad ass crime mogul who got rid of slightly smaller bad asses. Godi was a mouse, and his lover would not cower because of a rodent. 

Kirishima braced his hands on either side of Saho’s shoulders. Asami stayed silent as the secretary sighed. “When it first began, we did not realize the gravity of the situation. We mistook obsession for infatuation.”

Akihito struggled to speak. “I don’t see the problem. You all are…”he gestured around the room, “…you all. You’ve taken out bigger threats before.” He grimaced. References to Asami’s illicit business practices always left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“It wasn’t serious at first,” Asami finally spoke. “She sent flowers, whiskey, sympathy cards. Even when she broke into my home, I under-reacted.”

“Wait! She was in our home?” Akihito cried. 

“No,” Kirishima shook his head. “Asami-sama has moved twice since then.”

That was a relief. The thought of her strolling around the penthouse, doing anything her stalker mind wanted to sent chills down his spine. “I still don’t get why you haven’t made her disappear,” he wiggled his fingers magically. It was one of Asami’s many specialties, and easier to think of than some crazy naked bimbo in the condo. 

“She vanishes and reappears swiftly. She knows how our world operates, and acts accordingly,” the fixer explained. His eyes were glued to the photographer, who flushed and ducked his head away. 

“She changes her appearance frequently. She only uses cash. She’s even changed her legal name several times, and uses aliases,” Kirishima picked up where his boss left off. “We lose track of her for months at a time.” He turned and spoke directly to Asami. “We’ll have to investigate how she found you this time.”

Akihito’s mind flashed back to the robbery in the alleyway. He briefly locked eyes with Saho, who shook her head ever so slightly. Before he could say anything (because he was seriously considering it) Saho spoke. “She must have searched for properties I own, thinking we’re still connected.”

“Huh?” the photographer grunted. That was another thing he had not expected to come up. 

“Ryuichi owns your building, but the penthouse is in my name,” Saho gently told him. “We did it to protect him years ago, and at the time, I was the only one who was independently wealthy enough to afford it.”

“Oh my god!” Akihito shouted in disbelief. Grabbing his head, he shook it. “How much do you make? And how much is rent?” He quickly realized that housework, sex, and food did not even begin to equal half of it.

“Don’t be silly. There is no rent,” Saho shook her head, but Kirishima spoke over her. 

“Suoh is in the building now,” Kirishima reported. He put a stilling hand on his wife’s shoulder, keeping her in the chair. “He’s reviewing the tapes, trying to figure out which way she went.”

“Was anyone other than Akihito with her?” Asami asked. He flexed his hands, itching for a cigarette. He would have to wait until the limo, however. No one, himself included, wanted second hand smoke to hurt the baby. 

“Not that I saw,” Akihito piped up. “I was with her for a while, too.”

Asami’s glare darkened. He hated the thought of his precious boy anywhere near the psycho bitch. She had touched him, tried to sully him with her filthy fingers and turn him to her side. The next time he found her, he would flay the muscle off her bones.

The sun had long since set, and the beautiful sunset had been blanketed by the black night. Even the moon was dull. Saho glanced around the room. “Go home. If you use the underground entrance, she won’t be able to see you. You can move to a temporary home tomorrow, until we get something figured out.”

“What about you?” Akihito asked, even as his lover practically lifted him out of the chair. He could feel the tension radiating off of Asami. They still had not resolved their earlier fight, but it seemed minuscule when he thought of Godi. It seemed Asami had not let it go as easily as Akihito had. He kept trying to pull Akihito out of the room before he was finished with his conversation.

Saho grasped her husband’s tense hand. “We have a date night,” she squeezed it reassuringly. It was a part of their vows to never miss one, no matter what had happened. She was not about to let Kamata Godi ruin her night. 

“Okay,” Akihito waved. For the second time that day, he was pulled away before he could finish speaking. 

The walk to the elevator was tense. Asami’s shoulders were stiff, and he did not have his usual pompous air. Rather, he seemed guarded as he pressed the down button. 

“Hey, Asami?” Akihito asked one question that had been nagging at him since he first found out Godi was stalking the fixer. 

“Yes?” Asami’s answer was clipped. 

“How do you know Godi?” Akihito cocked his head to the side. Crime shows said that there had to be an inciting moment, something significant that made a person lose it and start stalking their victim. Knowing his lover the way he did, Akihito would bet his favorite camera that Asami already knew how Godi had met him. 

“Oh,” the fixer shoved his hands into his pockets. “She used to work for Saho.”

As the door closed, Akihito’s knees gave out from under him, his mind shattering. Asami glanced at him as the elevator went down, but Akihito could only think of Godi’s story. Oh fuck. It couldn’t be…Asami and Saho?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, I am really excited for the bad guy. I haven't seen something like this done, and I like trying new things. I think Godi is going to be a fun character. An interesting note, Godi is actually named after a person who shops at my store. Both her and her sister come in, and I always have a blast when they do. Their mom is fun, as well. I have always thought that they had the coolest names (they are Japanese American, and their mother is a Japanese immigrant). All three of their names will appear in this story, because I love them!
> 
> Explanation of absence (this is the part you can skip):
> 
> Again, I would like to thank everyone for their patience. Updates will continue to be slow.
> 
> We had buckets and buckets, over two feet of snow here, and on one such day, a semi ran Cam and myself off the road. In case you haven't read Seraglio, Cam is my wonderful boyfriend who beta'd for that story, and swore he never wanted to read another thing I ever wrote. It was a bad wreck, no lie. We rolled down a hill and the SUV landed wheels up. Cam broke both of his legs, one femur and two tibias. I broke my nose, and my wrist. Cam spent three weeks in the hospital because they were worried that he would get blood clots. They apparently occur frequently because of femur breaks.
> 
> Cam is out now, but he is stuck in his second floor apartment. We don't live together, so I can't take care of him as much as I would like. I'm back at work, but he isn't. He is going stir crazy, because he can't even walk right now. Dylan, his roomie, has been a saint. I don't know what we would do if he wasn't in the picture. We're asking the apartment complex to either let him out of his lease early (do to extenuating circumstances) or move them to a wheelchair accessible apartment. I stay over as much as I can, but I can't be there twenty-four seven.
> 
> In conclusion, updates are going to be slooooowwwwwwwww. I'm usually exhausted by the time I get home (if I make it here), and I really don't feel like writing gore and drama right now. Thank you for your patience, and to all the writers of fluff, I have never loved your stories as much as I do at the moment.
> 
> God bless and happy spring.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is un-beta'd. I've gotten it sent off to Minayanoai. I will be away from my computer for the next few days, so I wanted to get something out there. I know it's been a while, and I am so sorry that it is taking me so long to get these chapters out. 
> 
> Update on Cam: He's still in PT. He'll get to start walking in the next few weeks, but it will be with a walker. He isn't exactly thrilled, but we will make do. His complex agreed to let him and Dylan move to a new apartment. We paid a moving company to move them like three units down. It seems silly, but there was no way we could get some of the furniture out of that place! Nor did I really want to do the heavy lifting, TBH. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience, support, and prayers! They mean the world to us both! Cam was touched by your reviews, pms, and well wishes. You guys are the best!
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: The wonderful Miyanoai has beta’d for me. She finished her finals, and gets a little bit of break. So naturally, I had to put her to work again! Thanks for everything you do!

Chapter Seven:

The moment they got home Asami took a shower. His lover had not said a word in the limo, which spoke volumes about his anger. Akihito really wasn’t in the mood to talk, either. All he could think about was Godi’s offhand comment––her boyfriend’s ex. Maybe he was overreacting. she could have had a boyfriend while she built a shrine in her closet to Asami Ryuichi. That certainly was where Asami’s tie was going, and hopefully all she would do was smell it. 

Yet curiosity nagged at him, and it demanded to be sated. Yanking his laptop out (a birthday present from Asami) he tried once more to utilize his sleuthing skills. He may not have found out anything about the factory, but he had a file of Nikolai Pushkin hat was several centimeters thick. 

He sighed aloud when his search for Kirishima Saho and Asami Ryucihi brought up nothing. A little bit of digging, and he found the Kirishimas' marriage certificate. Asami signed as a witness. No surprise there. Then he found a few articles about Saho’s business: wondering if it would survive with her new last name, if she could sustain a marriage and business, if she would have kids. Those were few and far between. No one seemed interested in Kirishima Saho. 

Nothing. 

Relief flooded his soul. Godi was wrong, or she had lied. Maybe she had worked for Saho but had constructed some cock and bull fantasy romance. Then again…

Just to be prudent, Akihito searched for Urara Saho and Asami Ryuichi. That was who she was before she got married. Google exploded so quickly that Akihito was afraid he had broken the internet. The headlines were everywhere. Tokyo’s Hottest Couple. Power Couple Invests in Neonatal Technology. From Red Carpets to Exclusive Galas: Tracking the Fashion of Asami Ryuichi and Urara Saho. Google instantly pulled up pages and pages of stuff. News articles, videos, invitations to parties, business deals. 

And there were pictures, too. One of Saho in a beautiful yellow gown, Asami’s light gray suit complimenting it masterfully. Another showed them both in power suits, surrounded by politicians and other businessmen. They looked like they were signing some kind of deal. A third had them on the veranda of a posh restaurant. Asami was actually smiling in that one as Saho laughed loudly. They went to the opera, to balls, to charity galas––everywhere. 

The worst part was how he touched her. In every single picture, Asami was touching Saho. Their arms were linked or his hand was on the small of her back. Akihito’s skin burned as he recalled every single time his lover had touched him that way. It was possessive posturing, showing that Akihito––and now Saho––could be touched by Asami only. 

“Akihito,” Asami’s voice startled him. 

He slowly looked up at his lover, mouth hanging wide in disbelief. Asami stood in his usual terrycloth bathrobe, a sniffer of whiskey in hand. His eyebrows rose at Akihito’s blatant surprise. “Is there something you wanna tell me?” Akihito really wished he had some booze. It would calm his nerves and keep his hands from shaking. 

The crime lord kept the distance between them, which was unusual, but the photographer was grateful. “I should be the one asking that,” Asami’s hands gripped his glass tighter. 

“Really?” Akihito couldn’t keep the snarling accusation out of his voice. “Because I found out today that you used to fuck Saho.” Godi said date, but Asami’s hand on her back said fuck. 

The glass in Asami’s hand shattered. Caramel colored whiskey sloshed over the floor, the shards of glass scintillating in the fluorescent light. Deep gouges raked across Asami’s palm and fingers, which had fisted so tightly that Akihito heard the blood squelch. The fixer had such an enraged look on his face that he didn’t notice the deep crimson droplets the ruined the immaculate carpet. 

“Asami, your ha––”

The crime lord crossed the den in three steps, not seeing or caring about the heavy blood flow. The photographer shrieked as he was jerked over the back of the couch and thrown so hard against the wall that the photos and art shook. One overpriced piece fell on the floor, dissevering the canvas. 

“Is that what you think I do?” Asami’s hand shook as he fisted Akihito’s shirt. “Fuck you until you pass her and then do her while Kirishima watches?”

Akihito’s eyes blazed. It sounded ludicrous, but Kirishima was a subservient employee. If Asami wanted Saho, then the secretary would not object. “Godi said––“

The fixer’s eyes were narrow slits. “You would take the word of a deranged woman––“

“I didn’t!” Akihito grabbed Asami’s wrist and pushed up a little bit onto his tip toes, which gave him a some leverage so that his shirt didn’t rip. “I did my job. I checked the facts! And I found that!” He viciously pointed to his laptop’s glowing screen. 

Asami jerked his hand away as if Akihito’s evidence burned him. The photographer landed solidly on his feet, keeping his eyes trained on his lover. The crime lord looked at the paparazzi picture. They were smiling, looking carefree and happy in public––which had never happened with Akihito. 

“Godi couldn’t fake that!” Akihito prodded the bull a little more. He very rarely had the upper hand in an argument, and won them even less. He was going to dive head first into the deep end. 

“She was engaged to Kirishima there,” Asami finally looked at his seeping cuts. 

“Maybe by that time,” Akihito countered. “There are other pictures. Articles even. You still go out with her sometimes.” It felt as though an ice bath had been dumped down his back as another fear clutched at his throat. “Is she your wife? Am I your mistress?”

Asami could have had her marry Kirishima as a way to protect her. That meant the baby was his, that Akihito was just a piece of ass that Asami liked to tap. What had the Simpsons called it? A goomar––a kept mistress. Akihito was officially the other woman. He was going to be sick. 

“After all that has happened] all I have done––do you really think I would treat you like that?” Asami’s voice was low. It wavered and emotion made it rough. “Do you think so little of me, Akihito?”

“Of you? No,” Akihito dropped his gaze and shook his blond hair. Asami Ryuichi was a Olympian among mortal men, and Akihito was but a faceless pauper. Their life together was a surreal reverie. No matter what the photographer did, he never felt like he belonged in it. Glorious, beautiful Saho matched the Japanese kingpin perfectly. “Me? I doubt me very much.”

Asami Ryuichi finally stopped looking between the screen and his hand. His little lover stepped out of his reach to look at the Tokyo skyline. “Why are we doing this, Asami?” Akihito chuckled derisively. “It’s pointless. Really, I mean, look at us! We can’t stop fighting! We haven’t even talked about what happened at the restaurant.”

Asami’s gazed narrowed. “Now that you mention it––“

“Don’t even start with me!” Akihito whipped around, angrily waving his hand. “You can’t contradict me on this one. We fight and fuck, and then fight again. We might have little spells of peace, but this––us––“ he frenetically gestured between them. “––we aren’t compatible. We don’t work together!

“And we’re idiots if we think that this, the way we are now, is permanent. I mean,” Akihito rubbed his palms on his eyes. Fuck, he wasn’t going to cry. “Earlier today, I thought that we could fix it. I thought that if I loved you hard enough, that you could change.”

Asami could not believe his eras. Usually Akihito did not word vomit unless he was drinking. The emotional catharsis was all consuming, and the crime lord was suddenly drowning in Akihito’s tears. “Do you not think that now?” His hands shook, desperate to grab ahold of the young man who was falling apart before his eyes. 

Akihito shook his head as he looked up to keep his tears in his the corners of his eyes. “No. I love you enough to respect who you are,, but I love myself too. I know that some things will never change, and it hurts me too much to say in this cycle.” He sighed, shoulders dropping and his voice quivering. “I’m sorry, Asami. But I don’t think that I can marry you.”

“That’s not an option,” Asami spoke with his characteristic firmness. His eyes blazed with unrelenting fury at the very thought of Akihito leaving him. 

“Of course it is,” Akihito snapped back. “I have to say yes for it to be real. You can’t coerce me, can't forge my signature. I’d be your prisoner, not your husband.”

Asami walked around the twitching photographer. He planted himself between the boy and the cityscape. “I never touched Saho. Not once in the ten years that I have known her.”

“What?” No. They had stopped talking about that a long time ago. Akihito squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his head. He not expected Asami to start talking about the walking problem with boobs again. 

“We have a very intimate relationship, and I can honestly say that she is one of my few friends. But it was never sexual. She only had eyes for Kirishima.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Dammit, Asami wasn’t taking this seriously. He was addressing Akihito’s fears about…oh. The fixer took a slow step towards him, careful to still give Akihito his space. He spoke softly, reassuring Akihito, not with sex but actual words, that Saho was nothing to him. That Godi was nothing to him. It was only Akihito that he craved. 

“We started making public appearances together because we were business partners, and we were both new to the world of business.” Akihito snorted. It seemed impossible that Asami Ryuichi had ever anything but the top dog. “It’s true,” Asami easily interpreted his disbelief. “Having a woman on my arm gave me a sense of stability, and it was critical during those first few years. We kept the charade going because it was easy, and because it was better for business. We are Japanese, and we love a good love story after all.”

“But…” Akihito stumbled over his words. He tried to think clearly, but the juxtaposing stories were a jumbled up mess in his head. They did not fit together at all, and trying to reconcile them made his head hurt. “The phone call? Godi said…”

Asami shook his head. “We didn’t tell very many people about the ruse. Every person who knew could have let something slip, and then the charade was up. When Godi worked for Saho, she truly believed that we were together.”

“How can you expect me to believe that?” Akihito gasped. “Do you know how stupid it sounds? Life could not have been so dangerous that you had to fake a relationship and not tell anyone! That’s a terrible way to stay alive! It put Saho in the line of fire! Kirishima would never had let her do it!”

“Kirishima and Souh,” Asami paused to shake his head slowly. “Even they first were kept in the dark. I don’t expect you to understand what happened back then, Akihito. We were in a very different situation.”

“Because you didn’t have as much money?”

“I didn’t have the power that I have now.”

“This story keeps getting more ridiculous! You take down other syndicates all the time! You do it while you take a smoke break! How could you not have power?”

Asami stopped talking. Golden eyes met hazel, and they held there for a long time. He was not sure how much of his world he should share with the photographer. Akihito was squeamish at the loss of human life, and Asami had killed many people during his climb to the top. His lover would not react well to the tale. “I was twenty-three when I first came to Tokyo. There were families that had been established long before I was born, and their footholds were difficult to break.”

“And Saho helped you get rid of them?” Akihito’s mouth almost hit the floor. 

“In a condensed version, yes,” Asami answered. It was so much more than that, but it was better to keep it in the past. Asami was not proud of everything that had happened in those tenuous years, and the last thing he wanted to do was distort the way Akihito saw him. 

“Did anything happen with you and Godi?” He doubted it, but Akihito needed to hear the older man say it. 

“Never.”

There was no room for doubt or misconstruing Asami’s blunt words. Relief flooded Akihito’s soul like a tsunami, dousing the fear inside him. Chatoyant eyes, nearly black from dilated pupils watched the photographer’s shoulders relax, the corners of his mouth soften. The fight was dwindling to embers; soon all would be well in his world. As it should be. 

“That doesn’t change things between us.”

Now it was the crime lord’s heart that stopped beating, his lungs filling up with icy terror. His boy’s gaze was blank. Empty. Nothing. Defeat had not set into him yet, but he was perilously close to throwing in the towel on the relationship. “Just because you didn’t sleep with a few women doesn’t mean that we can fix this.”

“We aren’t something that is broken,” argued the fixer. “You can’t fix what is whole.”

“This is whole? This is how you think a relationship is supposed to be?” the blond barked raucously. “This is a fucked up mess! Marriages don’t last when they’re like we are!”

“What do you want from me?” Asami demanded. His own anger was frothing to the surface, and the last thing he needed to do was lash out. Akihito was leaving him little choice, though. 

“I want you to treat me like a competent adult. Respect me as a man! I shouldn’t have to sneak around to live my life! I don’t want to have to hide what I do out of fear that you’ll get mad and instead of talking to me about your feelings, fuck me until you win whatever made up argument you think we’re having! I want us to be a normal couple who talk about things! Feelings! Why can’t you just be committed to me like a normal boyfriend?”

“Committed to you?” Asami held his shaking hands in front of his face. “I asked you to marry me!”

“No! You didn’t,” Akihito shook his head. “I woke up and we were engaged! I never actually told you yes, not that you asked me.”

“You were the one who kept calling me your husband. That sounds like consent to me,” snapped Asami. He remembered that night easily, and how that wonderful word tumbling off Akihito’s pout had horripilated his skin. 

Akihito dramatically rolled his eyes. “I had a Freudian slip, Asami. They’re a common thing. And I was hungry that night! I can’t be responsible for what I said.” The excuse was flimsy, and would not hold up in court. But Akihito thought that there was some truth to it. Hunger made skinny boys do and say weird things. Like call crime lords their husbands and surprise said fixer’s with kinky sex. 

“That doesn’t change the fact that I am trying to marry you,” Asami retorted. He stepped closer to his lover, ducking his head so that they were nearly eye level. “I want you by my side forever. My actions leave no room for doubt.”

Akihito glared crossly. “You’re actions are philistine. Cavemen clubbed their mates over the head and drug them back to their caves. Not once have you said that you want me.”

“I’m saying it now,” Asami grabbed Akihito by the arms. He shook the blond, trying to rattle some sense into him. “I’ve spent the past hour saying it.”

“Too little, too late,” Akihito broke out of his hold. “I know you, Asami. You’re about to get me out of my pants. That’s what you always do.” 

“If I was going to fuck you until you saw reason, I would have started to by now.” No, he was trying to use his words like Akihito wanted him to. Words were stupid, useless. Anyone could say one thing and mean another. Asami made a habit of lying, using it to manipulate everyone around him. Actions were what mattered. They spoke truer than words ever could. 

“That would be a first,” he scoffed. 

Asami sighed as he pinched the bridge of his now. “I’m making an effort, Akihito. The least you could do is meet me half way.”

“Half way? I’ve gone way past half way, Asami!” the investigative photographer tossed his hands theatrically into the air. “I’ve told you I love you! I keep looking past all your screw-ups and your trust issues and the way you think you get to control every single fucking thing I do! Do you realize that you haven’t once said that you love me?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I mean, that’s insane! We’re supposed to be engaged and you can’t even say ‘I love you’!”

“Those are words,” Asami spoke slowly. “They mean nothing.”

“Not to me!” Akihito gasped at the thought that Asami saw his heart-hammering confession as trite. His mouth fell open in grief, his forehead scrunching as tears welled up in his eyes. “I meant them.”

Asami reached for him. “That’s not what I meant, Akihito,” he said softly. Never in a million years did he think that Akihito would say it without meaning it. His boy was too pure to ever commit such a sin. Coming from Asami, those words were a different story. 

“Just––never mind,” Akihito sighed. “I’m going to bed, Asami. I don’t really feel like this conversation is going anywhere.”

Asami took his hand. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t walk out on me now.”

“Why? You don’t believe I love you. That was the last thing I could give you, Asami…my heart. And you don’t want it. Fine. It’s late. Let me get some sleep.”

Akihito slipped out of his grip as easily as the wind. He could only watch as the boy disappeared into the dark hallway. 

*

Asami sat for many hours thinking about what Akihito had said. He was on his third whiskey, the cold of the glass numbing his bandaged hand. Kirishima would have a field day when he saw it. Draining it, he shook his head. He must have gone through an entire fifth in one day. No one could make him hit the bottle like Akihito. 

Flicking the lights off, Asami walked into their room. Akihito was lying on the bed, curled up near the edge. Out of Asami’s reach. He was still, and his breathing even, but Asami knew that he was awake, and thinking about their conversation just as intently as he was. Careful to not disturb him, Asami slipped off his robe and draped it over the chair. 

“Akihito,” he pulled the boy onto his back so that he could kneel over him. “Look at me.”

Hazel eyes tore themselves open. Long lashes had been glued together by his salty tears now ripped out from the force. Asami grabbed his chin, keeping him from squirming out of his hold. “Words mean nothing to me. A man can say whatever he wants to, use them as weapons or promises. Words change when the winds blow. Actions show us what the truth it.”

“Asami––“

“Let me finish,” Asami stopped him. “I always consider every option before I act, because I know that once I do something, I can’t change it. Actions are how I speak, not words.”

Akihito blinked rapidly. “I know,” Asami could hear his voice croak, muffled by his tears. “I was thinking about it before you came in.”

“For you, word and deed are the same,” Asami was pleased that Akihito was coherent enough to listen to him, and that the boy was slowly coming to the same conclusion. “You don’t lie, you actions are in line with your words. What you can’t grasp is that not everyone is as good as you.”

“I’m not good. I fuck things up all the time.”

“You are good,” Asami easily reassured him. “You are the one uncontaminated spark in my life, one of the last ones left in the world. Everyone else can see it. Feilong. Arbatov. They all recognize the goodness in you.”

Asami braced himself. “I won’t say this often, Akihito, and I don’t say it lightly. I thought my actions were enough to make you understand, but I see I was wrong.”

“Asami,” Akihito put a bracing hand on the fixer’s chest. He stayed in the man’s hold, his eyes fixed on Asami’s face. “Don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t want to coerce you into saying something you don’t want to.”

“Want has nothing to do with it. I need to say it as much as you need to hear it,” Asami said with a shake of his head. His bangs fell down into his eyes, thin wisps that Akihito wanted to smooth away. “I love you. I love you more than I have loved anything else in my life, and more than I will ever love again. I want you by my side, now and forever. I will do whatever I can to please you, to keep you safe and to provide every comfort that you could ever want. I love you.

“Please. Don’t leave me. Not now, not ever.”

Akihito threw himself into Asami’s arms. The force launched them onto their knees, their naked bodies colliding. Tears poured from his eyes as Akihito clung tightly to him, whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over again. Asami pressed kisses into his hair, against his cheeks, eyes and neck. Everywhere. He held onto his boy just tightly, trying to pull them so close that their souls touched. 

“Will you marry me, Takaba Akihito?” Asami whispered into his ear. 

“Yes,” Akihito blinked back opaque tears. His chin rested on his lover’s shoulder as he smiled up at the ceiling. “I will marry you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be a little while before the next update. Just a fair warning. Thank you again for your support and for reading this. It's my baby.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Miyanoai's birthday week! Everybody sing with me:
> 
> Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday awesome Miyanoai! Happy birthday to you! 
> 
> Of course, this chapter is dedicated to her. It's a small gift, but this along with Clean, is her surprise birthday gift! It's not much, but it is for the best beta that there is! 
> 
> As always, I own nothing expect the OCs and the plot line. And even the plot is starting to seem a little familiar. I'll change that!

Chapter Eight: 

The fixer was passed out beside him, snoring softly. He was absolutely exhausted. They had enjoyed the last few days of Asami’s vacation: laughing, loving, and just spending time together. It almost felt like they were newlyweds still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship. The tenuous relationship that they had teetered on seemed to have stabilized, so that Akihito now felt like a partner in their fucked up love affair and not just some kept boy. Asami kept whispering words of affection during the most random moments of the day, and the photographer could not lie: he loved it. 

Gentle ‘I love yous’ and ‘My Akihitos’ caressed the back of his neck, his palms, his chest as the fixer layered kisses all over him. Now that Asami knew that Akihito craved words of affection as much as deeds, if not more so, he was determined to affirm Akihito’s rapidly changing viewpoint. In the days spent together, Akihito learned more about Asami than he ever thought he would know. All he needed to do was ask, and the fixer was willing to answer. 

It felt like a dream, like a romantic movie montage, and the photographer basked in every moment. 

*

It was rare for Akihito to lay awake while Asami slept. Usually the blond passed out after a rigorous fucking. Asami enjoyed pushing him beyond his limits. Tonight, though exhausted, sleep had not managed to claim him. He was too content to lay tucked under Asami’s strong arm, listening to the soft heartbeat beneath his lulling breath. The fixer reminded him over and over and over again how loved he was. 

Akihito pressed a kiss just beneath the man’s heart. “I love you, Ryuichi.”

Even in his sleep, Asami responded. The muscles in his arm tensed and jumped, his heart rate accelerated, and he pulled the boy even closer to him. Akihito smiled privately at his possessive lover. As the man had said earlier in the day, partners should address each other informally. The fixer had never shied away from using Akihito’s given name, but the idea of calling Asami anything other than bastard was ludicrous. The man was a god of death, and reducing him to a mere name was impossible. Akihito tried to call him Ryuichi, but had flushed and stuttered, unable to get past the first syllable. 

In the dark of the night, with only the moon and stars to witness, the photographer pressed another kiss to his lover, this time on the inside of his arm. “Ryuichi,” he muttered again. 

The fixer’s leg kicked. Akihito’s smile only grew. “My Ryu,” he said just a little louder, courage slipping into his words. “I love you, Asami Ryuichi.”   
*

The bastard looked so smug as he sipped his morning coffee. It was Sunday, and their last day together before life resumed. The brief respite from their mundane routine had been magical, and Akihito found himself wishing that it would never end. “Say it again,” he commanded. 

The photographer rolled his eyes. He kept dicing the carrots as he muttered, “Ryuichi.”

Asami hummed to himself. He sounded so damn pleased that Akihito briefly considered reverting back to Asami. As if sensing his fiendish plan, Asami met the boy’s hazel eyes. “I love you, Akihito.”

A bright flush swallowed the boy’s entire body. He made a keening sort of sound in the back of his throat, but could not answer. The fixer made the declaration often, but it was at random times. It always took Akihito by surprise, and all he could do was flounder until he remembered how to speak. 

“Akihito,” Asami’s voice was grave. His little lover stopped chopping up their salad to look at his lover. “We need to talk about what happened at the restaurant.”

Akihito stilled. Yup, it was a good thing that he had put the knife down. His blood turned slushy as he thought back to the awful business meeting. Asami had not even gone to the grand opening; he had been so busy fucking Akihito into the mattress. Or maybe it had been on the kitchen counter. Or the veranda. Akihito really could not remember all the places that they had done it. He was digressing, and needed to focus on what his lover was saying. It was important. 

“Your career––“

“No,” Akihito interrupted the man. “I’m not giving up my independence.”

“We’re getting married,” the fixer let him finish his sentences, and Akihito felt just a little bit bad that he kept cutting Asami off. “By definition, you are losing some of your independence, so that is a moot argument.”

That was true, but not the point. “I don’t want to marry you for your money, Ryuichi. If I quit working, that’s what people will say.” 

“Let them say it,” the thirty-seven year old shrugged his shoulders. “They’ll always say it, always think it. They don’t matter,” Asami’s voice was somber. He held his hand out, an open invitation for his boy. “What matters is what we think and say and do.”

Akihito ran his fingers through his blond hair as he wondered over to the dark haired man. “Photography is a huge part of who I am. You couldn’t give up Sion if I asked you to. Or your gun!”

No, but his gun kept them alive just a little while longer, while Akihito’s camera jeopardized his life. Though, he would quit drinking and smoking if the photographer asked him to. One day, he would retire the business to whichever of Kirishima’s children was the least imbecilic, and whisk Akihito away to a private island. That dream would not happen until he controlled every facet of Japan. “I love you,” Asami watched Akihito’s shoulders drop, some of the tension and fear dissipating. 

“I love you, too,” Akihito tucked his face into the crook of Asami’s neck. 

Calloused fingers twisted in the gossamer curls at the nape of Akihito’s neck. “When we sign the papers, Japan will legally recognize you as Asami Akihito. You will be a part of my family, publicly, and the world will know it. It’s going to put an even bigger target on your back.”

Once he got the ring, Akihito knew that Asami’s enemies would come after him. He was going to officially be Asami’s biggest weakness, and everyone with half a brain would want to use the photographer against the fixer. If Akihito still took down big time syndicates, crummy politicians, and businessmen who thought their money made them gods, then he would be wandering in to the proverbial lion’s den. One mistake, one slip-up, and both Asami and Akihito would pay the price. 

Asami saw the flicker in his boy’s hazel eyes. “Just think about it,” he told his lover. “You don’t need to give up photography entirely. Just criminal journalism.”

“I’ll think about it,” Akihito promised. Even though his mind was already made up.

*

Tuesday came, and his palms began to sweat as four-thirty drew near. He was supposed to meet with Saho and talk about venues. Asami was chartering a helicopter to take them to some of the more remote options. Green places full of water. For a man of such modern taste, Asami loved rural vegetation. 

Akihito really did not want to go. He still had not addressed just how he felt about the socialite. He wished that she had been up front with him about her relationship with Asami. Not that he would have reacted any better, but he could have spared himself the hurt and anger of her friendship. Damn, he really wanted to skip the appointment. 

“Thanks for meeting me,” Akihito said as he slid into the wooden seat. He was meeting Kou for lunch, because he really needed to talk to a friend. 

The brunette nodded. “No problem. You sounded kind of agitated on the phone.”

“Yeah,” Akihito smiled at the waitress. They were sitting on the patio of a cheap ramen place that they frequented when they were on a budget but needed to talk. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“Really?” Kou took a swig of his coke. “You seemed so happy at your party last week.”

Wow. Had Asami only been home a week? So much had happened that the speed made the photographer’s head spin. It was crazy. “I was. I am,” he quickly amended. 

“Are things with Asami okay?” his friend was fairly perceptive about relationship issues. He often gave Takato advice about Rinka, and had helped the tech see his wife’s point of view during several arguments. 

“Great. Better than they have ever been,” he admitted. He could not stop a soft smile that lit up his face as he thought about his lover. 

“Nice,” Kou nudged his shoulder. “So what’s the problem?”

The photographer accepted his drunk from the waitress. “What did you think about Saho?”

“The pregnant lady from the party?” Kou clarified. “She’s hot, dude, but I don’t get turned on by that kind of thing. Plus her husband looks scary. Are they swingers or something?” He remembered the way Kirishima touched her shoulders, her back, her face. He looked at her like a religious idol, and it was just as every bit as obsessive as the way Asami looked at Akihito. It used to bother Kou, because he knew about the businessman’s possessive tendencies. Surprisingly, Akihito bloomed under Asami’s touch. He still rebelled and fought tenaciously, but he had matured so much in their two years together. He was more of a man and less of a boy. 

Akihito rolled his eyes. “It’s not all about sex,” he told his friend. “I just found out something about Ryu and Saho.”

Kou raised his eyebrows at the mention of Asami’s first name, but did not comment. He listened to his friend. “Rinka said something about that,” he admitted. 

“What?” Akihito yelped. He sputtered and coughed choking on his pop. 

“Well, you know that Rinka loves to read those celebrity sleaze magazines, with all the gossip and pictures. She recognized both Asami and Urara immediately.”

His shoulders slumped, and his head hung. “Did she say that they used to date?”

“Yeah,” Kou shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He did not see how things could be great between Aki and Asami with a bombshell like that. He looked around, wishing that Takato was there, too. He was so much better at comforting people than Kou, and Akihito looked so depressed. 

“Apparently, it’s all a ruse––one they’ve been doing on and off for years,” he admitted. “Ryuichi said it gives him a sense of stability, which is important in business.”

“No offense,” Kou started slowly. “That sounds totally archaic. Like something that would happen in the Meiji era, and not now. Old people talk like that. People our generation don’t think that way at all. It sounds like an excuse to me.”

Kou and Takato never fully understood Asami’s high pressure world, not that Akihito had really explained it to them. After their fateful encounter with Feilong, the photographer did his best to keep them insulated from the danger. No one would use them to hurt Asami, but they could be used to play Akihito like a fiddle. “I get where he is coming from,” the photographer replied softly. “I just wished he had told me before I met her. Like, I had no idea.”

“None at all?” Kou wasn’t surprised. Only an idiot would parade around a second relationship, and he did not think that Asami Ryuichi was even a little bit stupid. 

“No,” Akihito said. 

“It seems like it’s all an excuse,” the computer technician rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m assuming that Urara gave him the illusion of stability because she could be a part of his family? Then you should be able to do the same thing. I mean, you are marrying him after all.”

“He’s adopting me,” Akihito wiped his hands on his pants. “Japan isn’t going to accept gay marriage for a long time, so it’s adoption. But I don’t think that I’d give him the same stability as Saho. I can’t pop out babies like she can.”

“There are other ways to have a family,” Kou pointed out. “So that can’t be the only issue.”

Akihito wanted to use the photography argument. He couldn’t take Asami’s last name and be publicly married to him if he was going to still take out other bad guys. Kou and Takato did not know that Asami was technically a criminal, too, and they did not need to be pulled into that world. It was also a major factor. “I’m not trying to excuse his actions,” though it sounded like he totally was. “I just don’t know how to process it all.”

“Have you talked to Urara?” 

“No,” the twenty-five year old shook his blond head. “I am supposed to meet her this afternoon to talk about the ceremony. But she’s the last person that I want to see.”

“Are you angry at her?” Kou asked. 

“Hurt mostly,” he replied. “She made me feel like the other woman, or man in my case. Like I’m the one intruding on the relationship.”

“Did she say that to you?” Kou’s mouth dropped in disbelief. 

“No no no,” Akihito held his hands up. “She doesn’t even know that I know. I haven’t talked her in several days.”

“You know, it’s okay to take a few days off from her and the wedding,” Kou told him gently. “You don't always have to go full steam ahead. If you’re upset or need to clear your head, it’s okay to do it.”

He let out a huff of air. “I feel bad canceling so late. She’s super busy and has all these important clients–“

“I know who she is,” Kou cut him off. “We looked her up after the party. But you know what?” He looked at his friend, and when the photographer did not answer, he kept on talking. “It doesn't matter. You don’t owe her or her business anything. You are a client, and they have to cancel sometimes. Do you think she’s never had some bimbo not show up because of a hangover?”

“I still feel bad––“

“Don’t. It’s no big deal,” Kou’s voice was firm. 

“Akihito!” a warm, girly voice sent cold shivers up his spine. Oh hell no. Fucking piss. The photographer turned around, eyes wide as Kamata Godi wove between the tables with a giant smile on her face. “I was just thinking about you!”

Yeah, more like thinking about how to use him to get into the building so she could fuck Asami. The photographer tried to look pleased, though Kou easily saw how uncomfortable he was. “Who’s th––“

“How are you doing?” the photographer plastered a fake grin on his face. 

“Good,” the girl, who was actually very attractive, held up an ‘It’s-A-Boy’ bag. “My sister is having her baby shower just a few restaurants down. I was walking by when I saw you, and I just had to say thanks again!”

“It was my pleasure,” Akihito answered, even though it was totally wasn’t. “Did your boyfriend notice that his tie was missing?”

“Nope,” she looked super pleased with herself. “I slipped it back into his wardrobe and he never even noticed.”

“Well I’m glad,” he said, hoping that it would end the conversation. He really, really wanted her to go away. Kou kept shooting him weird looks, wanting to know who this random chick was. Akihito knew it was rude but he did not introduce them. It would only keep Godi around longer, and if something with Asami did not pan out, she might start stalking Kou. Crazy people did crazy things. 

“Here’s my number,” the girl handed him an embossed business card. “Call me sometime. I want to buy you dinner as a thank you. And you can bring your fiancé, too. I don’t want her to think I’m trying to steal you!” the girl laughed gaily. 

“Her?” Kou started and then squeaked when Akihito stomped on his foot. He fell silent, but glared reproachingly at the blond. 

“I’ll let her know,” Akihito forced his voice to stay cheery. “I’m sure she’ll understand! Because I’m engaged to a woman!”

Godi laughed. “All righty,” she waved goodbye. “I have to go, but I’ll see you later. It was nice to meet you,” she said to Kou, even though they had not officially met. 

“You too,” Kou waved slowly. They watched the girl scamper off, humming to herself and present swinging by her side. As soon as she vanished into the crowd, Kou looked at Akihito. “Is there something about Asami that you need to tell me?”

“No,” Akihito dropped his forehead onto the table. “He’s totally all man.” Akihito swore he heard his friend mutter ‘Gross’ but he ignored Kou. “That girl, her name is Kamata Godi, and she’s kinda crazy. Like she’s stalking Ryu but doesn’t know I’m marrying him crazy.”

Kou’s face paled. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Akihito chuckled darkly. “I wish I was. Trust me.”

“And she doesn’t know that you’re marrying him?” Kou shook his head in disbelief. “That’s insane.” 

“Tell me about it,” Akihito rolled his eyes. “She’s a legit stalker. I met her when she was hanging outside of our building, digging in the garbage for Ryu’s stuff. She thinks I’m marrying a girl, and I didn’t contradict her.”

“I don’t blame you,” Kou leaned back in his chair. “Look at it this way; at least she thinks Urara is dating Asami, and not you!” He laughed boisterously.

Great. A pregnant lady was acting as his shield. If he had not felt lousy before, he did now. 

*

Pulling his baseball cap down over his eyes, Akihito ducked his head in thanks to the doorman. No matter how well Kou argued, he still ended up at Saho’s. His mother had raised him well, and he knew ditching was wrong. The doors chimed as they slid open, and Koyanagi looked up with a pleasant smile. “Welcome back, Takaba-san,” she said cheerily. 

He jerked his head. “Hey,” it sounded half-hearted, but he did not really have the spirit to say much else to her. 

The receptionist sensed his taciturnity, and set down her pen. “Just have a seat in the lobby. Someone will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks,” Akihito shuffled over to his usual seat. The wait normally took much longer, but Merav was bustling out before he had gotten comfortable. With a brisk wave of her hand, she gestured for him to stand. “Already?” he groaned, pushing himself up with his hands n his knees. 

“Yes,” she said with the sultry voice, deep with its accent. “Saho is on a tight schedule today. There is no room for diversion.”

Akihito rolled his eyes. The woman was always was busy, and the world seemed to turn according to her schedule. “Gotcha,” he grunted. Rolling his shoulders to try to work out some of the tension in his back, he followed the Israeli woman down the hall. Once again, they were meeting in Saho’s office, and not the conference room. 

Merav knocked twice and then pushed the door open without waiting to be told to enter. “Takaba-san is here,” she told Saho. 

The pregnant lady smiled. “Excellent,” she snapped a binder shut. “Sit down,” she wagged her finger at the chair across from her. “I’ve got quite a bit to talk to you about. We need to nail down a color palette today.”

“I can’t do this,” Akihito stopped her before she could get sidetracked with the wedding. 

Saho scrunched up her eyebrows, her pale forehead crinkling like origami paper. “You have to pick colors,” she told him hesitantly, startled by his sudden reticence. “And rainbow doesn’t count.” He had tried that one already, because it would go with everything. She had nipped that in the bud quickly 

“No,” he shook his head. “I can’t pretend that we’re…friends,” Akihito stumbled over the word, flinching at the hurt that rippled in her eyes. “Not when you’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

Saho quirked an eyebrow. Using her feet, she pushed her chair back to the safe behind her desk. It was not a very secure safe because it was already open. All she had to do was reach back and grab at his binder. “Secrets?” she grimaced when her long fingers danced along the binder’s spine but could not grab ahold of it. “You look like someone just cancelled the newest installment of your favorite video game series.”

He did look like crap, Akihito knew that very well. Nerves made people sick to their stomachs. In truth, the last thing he wanted to do was primp before the meeting. Saho put enough effort into her appearance for both of them. “I had a very interesting conversation with Ryuichi this weekend,” Akihito admitted. 

Saho smirked in triumph, though he wasn't sure if it was him calling Asami by his first name or the fact that she finally was able to get ahold of the stupid binder. “And?” she asked. 

He had already made up his mind to be blunt about it. Beating around the bush would only complicate things further. “Why didn’t you tell me about your relationship with him?” 

Saho blinked. “Excuse me?” Her cellphone, which was sitting on her desk, lit up and started to buzz. She did not even glance at it as he spoke. 

She sounded genuinely puzzled. Then again, a bomb had not exploded her world like it did his. Every time Akihito thought of her, he imagined every touch, every look, every word that passed between her and Asami. He could only extrapolate on what happened between them, and if there had ever been any romance. Maybe he really did not want to know. 

“Ryu told me about what happened between you two,” he admitted. The more he talked the less embarrassed and self-conscious he became. He did not want to talk to Saho at all. It made his emotions more jumbled up than they were already. “And it concerns me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Saho immediately responded. 

He could have said it diplomatically, and kept his attitude controlled. Instead, he wanted to face it head on, so he answered her honestly. “I found out about your public relationship with Ryu.”

“Public relationship? What do you mean?” She had several relationships with Asami Ryuichi, and had not thought that any of them were hidden. 

He steeled his resolve. “All of Japan thinks that you used to date him. And you all actually encourage the rumor.”

“Yes,” she answered him immediately, brow quirked. “What of it?”

She did not seem any more perturbed by it than Asami. Then again, it was old news to them, and they were the ones living out the deception. Asami was right about Akihito: it was not in his nature to lie. He glared at the room at large, replying, “No one told me. I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what? That I have an outside relationship with Ryuichi?” 

“Yes,” he answered. “He says you two are close.”

“I’ve known him ten years, Akihito. Of course we have an intimate relationship,” she told him. Akihito knew that Saho was being open with him, but it almost felt patronizing, as if she spoke to him like he was a child. He bristled, suddenly angry. 

“I can’t pretend that I’m okay with all of this,” he waved his hand around her office. “I can’t even look at you without thinking about how all of Japan thinks you used to fuck him.”

“We never––

His phone was buzzing too, but it could wait. It was Kou undoubtedly, wanting to know if he had gone to the meeting. It vibrated in sync with Saho’s phone, but neither touched them. Their eyes stayed locked, and he shook his head. “Appearance is everything, you said so yourself,” he countered. 

Saho snorted. “Since when have you cared about appearances?” she snapped heatedly. 

“I’m not okay that you kept a huge secret from me!” he cried. 

“Saho!” Koyanagi burst into the room without knocking. Akihito whipped around, his jaw dropping when he saw the receptionist’s round face was cherry red and the sweat on her upper lip. “You’ve got a phone call!”

“Not now!” Saho did not take her eyes off Akihito’s face. His phone was still vibrating in his pocket. Kou’s persistence was getting highly annoying. 

“It’s your husband,” Koyanagi interrupted whatever else she was going to say. 

Saho finally picked up her cellphone. Eyes narrowing, she waved Akihito out of the room. “Take him to the conference room to wait.”

“Don’t bother,” Akihito pushed away from the desk. “I’m leaving.”

Saho snapped her fingers at Koyanagi. “Conference room,” she instructed. 

The flushed woman nodded. “Of course, Saho,” the woman gestured to Akihito. Grumbling, the photographer followed her out. He intended to bolt the moment he could. It wasn’t like Saho or her staff could tell him what to do. Then Saho shouted his name.

“Akihito!” she bustled as quickly as her large stomach would let her. The photographer turned around only to have to jump against the wall to let her through. “I have to go. Call me whenever you want to set up an appointment.”

Good. He had not felt like coming Thursday anyway. “Okay,” he grunted. 

“Saho–” Merav pushed the elevator button with her elbow. Her arms were full of papers, miners, folders, and it looked like an iPad. 

“Were going to the hospital,” she told the Israeli woman as they stepped into the elevator. “Hibiki will run things from here.”

“Hospital?” Akihito perked up. Saho had barely spoken with her husband before rushing to the elevator. And she wasn’t holding her stomach, and groaning in pain, so she could not have been in labor. Something big must have happened. 

“Yes,” she told him. “A driver is coming to get you and it will take you back to your home. Stay there.”

“What happened?” Akihito demanded. He stepped towards the elevator, but the doors were already shutting. 

“Someone has been shot,” Koyanagi answered for her boss. Her chest rose quickly, and she fanned herself with her sweaty hand. “That’s all I know.”

Oh no. Someone was shot. Akihito whipped his phone out of his pocket and checked his missed calls. Asami had called him four times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta dah! I hope you all enjoyed it! The story is about to shift, and the next chapter has a little bit of a surprise coming. I haven't seen something like this happen before. Woohoo!


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter, so hopefully that will make up for the lengthy lull in this fic. I wanted to make this feel as realistic as possible, without being gross or graphic or tedious. Fingers crossed that I pulled it off. 
> 
> Thank you soon much to Miyanoai. I can never express how grateful I am for all of your hard work. These chapters would be a bumbling mess without you! Good luck at Otakon next weekend! I know you're gonna crush it.

Chapter Nine: 

Oh hell no. Hell fucking no. There was a possibility that Ryu had been hurt, perhaps mortally injured. Akihito absolutely refused to wait patiently at the condo while his fiancée struggled to breathe. “Like hell you’re leaving me behind!” he shouted, but the elevator doors were nearly shut. 

He broke out into a sprint, trying to catch the lift. There was no way he could squeeze through the small slit, but stuntmen in movies would always slide right through. He was about to find out if he was as lucky as Ryu claimed. Then Merav’s dark hand shot out, disrupting the safety sensors, and the doors opened again. 

“Come on then,” Saho said stiffly. 

*

Two men met them as they got off the elevator, their expressions grim. They escorted the group through the long hallways until they got to the private rooms––the super expensive ones that Akihito thought were only in movies. Saho barreled in before the guard could even announce them, Akihito hot on her heels. Asami and Kirishima stood immediately, either from surprise or etiquette. 

“Kazumi,” Saho gasped. 

Akihito faltered to a stop, aghast at what he saw. The colossal guard, more Titan than man, lay still in the hospital bed. He was so massive that one bed could not comfortably contain him, so two beds had been pushed together and the rails dropped. He was asleep; an oxygen mask secured behind his ears, and a hospital gown was draped over him.

“Saho,” Kirishima sighed in relief, taking his wife’s hands when she waddled up to the bed. 

“What happened?” Akihito found his voice. He somehow made it to Ryu’s side, his face bloodless and his hands shaking. His fiancé looked haggard, with his hair hanging scraggily around his dazed eyes, and his suit jacket was long gone. Kirishima looked just as sloppy. Even his shirt was untucked. 

“We were ambushed,” Asami raked his fingers through his unruly locks. “Coming out of Sion.”

“I didn’t even see him,” the CFO whispered. He stared at his hands, not even noticing that his wife was trying to make him sit. “We were going over the quarterly reports on our way to the parliament building. I didn’t even check––“

“Suoh saw it coming,” Akihito looked between the two distraught men. Neither emoted much, but their movements were jerky and their shoulders tense. The causal power that clung to Asami and his inner circle felt weak. This attack was sudden and a huge blow to their egos. They were attacked on their home turf, meaning that Japan was not safe. Akihito knew that his lover would squirrel him away until the danger was long past, probably to some faraway Caribbean island where he could hide until Japan and his job forgot all about him. 

It made sense. The mammoth was highly intelligent, but left debriefings to Kirishima unless his expertise was required. He thought finances were boring, and Akihito did not blame him. 

“Yes,” Kirishima looked helplessly at his best friend. He had immediately pushed Asami out of the way when he saw the sawed off shotgun raised, letting Kirishima’s body instinctively curl around the fixer. Asami was no worse for the wear, but Suoh’s chest had a gaping hole in it. It took both of their jackets to staunch the flow. 

“Do we know who did this?” Saho braced against the edge of the bed. She stared down at Suoh, his chest slowly rising and falling. His breath was steady, and there was good color in his cheeks. The doctors had preformed miracles at light speed, removing the bullet fragments that barely missed his lungs. “Or did they escape?” 

“No,” Asami’s voice was harder than his eyes. “We have the culprit at a warehouse, awaiting interrogation.” 

“Who does he work for?” the woman demanded. The assassin’s identity meant little. It was his backer that had the power. A financier could always hire another hitman, and stay far enough away for plausible deniability. It was a technique that Asami used, so he was familiar with it. 

“He’s Russian,” Kirishima answered his wife. 

Akihito’s eyes flared. “Arbatov?” 

Asami shook his head, but it was Saho who answered. Asami thought Akihito didn’t know the truth behind the Ukrainian factory, but the event coordinator was not afraid to keep him in the loop. “Pushkin,” she replied. Misha was an ally, and not stupid enough to order a direct hit on Asami, especially when he had nothing to gain from it. 

Pushkin. Akihito’s blood stilled. The western Russian mobster knew that Asami had aligned with Arbatov. He wanted to strike before the crime lord could prepare for the underworld war, while his guard was down. Ryu was the most vulnerable at Sion, where he had created an impregnable fortress. It made perfect sense, and Akihito was chilled at the calculating man. It seems that Pushkin was much more deadly than he had ever thought. 

“Yes,” Asami was not pleased that Akihito recognized the man’s name, but let it go. “We’re going to Russia.” 

Kirishima stood from his chair. His shoulders were square and his jaw set. Saho looked just as reconciled to the plan, her own hand steady. Akihito felt his mouth drop open. Asami was going to Russia? The idea was insane. Bonkers! Ludicrous! His precious lover was literally going to walk into the lion’s den, and everyone seemed okay with it. He would go alone! Usually when he traveled, Suoh went with him. Since the blond behemoth was out of commission, Ryu would be totally alone. 

“Be safe,” Saho squeezed Kirishima’s hands. “Call me when you land?”   
Akihito felt bad about the relief that pooled in his gut. Yeah, the secretary had a baby on the way, but Asami was much safer with Kirishima by his side. The photographer was already breathing easier. 

“Of course, dear,” Kirishima’s smirk was obliging as he looked at the love of his life. 

“Wait! You’re leaving now?” Akihito cried. He thought maybe the following morning, or even the day after. Not now!

“Yes, kitten,” Asami said lowly. Everyone in the room could hear, but it felt like he was only speaking to Akihito. “We have to move quickly if we want to eliminate Pushkin.” The fixer chose his words carefully, using eliminate instead of assassinate or kill. His boy was already freaked out enough over the incident, and he did not want to add a moral burden to his shoulders. “The element of surprise is on our side. Pushkin knows that someone is injured, and with a little luck, he will let his guard down. We might have this settled by the end of the week if we move quickly.”

“Oh,” he liked the idea of getting rid of Pushkin, preferably by life in jail without parole. He did not like Asami waltzing over to Russia on some stealth mission that would require radio silence. 

“We’ll be fine,” Saho took Akihito’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “I’ll watch after him,” she assured Ryu. “And he’ll look after me. You two avenge Kazumi.” 

Akihito gave her hand a squeeze. He was still angry, but the fight seemed trivial with all of their lives hanging in the balance. “One week,” he told Ryu sternly. “I expect you home by Sunday.” 

Asami smirked and nodded his head, as if he were a dutiful husband agreeing with his nagging wife. “Yes dear.” 

*

True to his word, Asami called him the moment the wheels touched the ground in Moscow. He could not talk long. Arbatov’s caravan was picking him up in secret but suave style, so they could sneak into the Arbatov compound without Pushkin knowing. Asami assured Akihito that he was safe and that they would not be reckless in their revenge. The phone call seemed to end before it began, and Akihito was left sitting the giant penthouse alone. 

He had extra security while Asami was away. The photographer had wanted to argue, but then he realized that the goons comforted Asami. He could focus better on the mission at hand if he thought Akihito was safe in Japan. Once he realized that, Akihito ceded to his demands. He would keep his promise to not do anything reckless either. 

The days slowly blended together. He did a few ad campaigns, and the head shots for a hopeful model. A fitting end to a quiet week, Akihito was cooking tonkatsu. He offered some to the two suits who stood outside the door, but they refused politely, like Akihito had expected them to do. Asami frowned upon him fraternizing with the guards, which Akihito thought was a little hypocritical seeing as how he was close with Kirishima and Suoh. That was a fight for another time, though. He then called Kou and Takato, but the brunette had a date and Takato was eating dinner with his wife’s family. 

He was actually relieved when he hung up after talking to Takato. He wanted company, but the guys didn’t understand. They would laugh at his nerves, and remind him that businessmen were boring. Whatever conference they thought Ryu had gone to was a standard one with pressed suits and PowerPoint presentations. They would tell him that he didn’t need to worry unless Asami got an infected paper cut. Akihito was very glad that his friends were ignorant about Ryu’s real job, but there were times he wished they understood. 

The photographer knew who he should call. He had not spoken to Saho in days, but had thought a lot about their conversation from the beginning of the week. He sat with her at Suoh’s bedside the first twenty-four hours, until the man woke up. According to Dr. Reiko, he would be in intensive care for ten days before being moved to another floor for an endured stay. The man’s chest had been blown open, so it was a miracle that he was even alive. The more he stared at Suoh, the more convinced Akihito became that Asami and Kirishima needed to put a permanent end to Pushkin. The man would murder them all if he could, and not lose any sleep over it. Suoh seemed immortal and invincible, and yet he fought to draw each breath. 

“Why is it just us here?” were the first words Akihito spoke to Saho in nearly five hours. He was still simmering, but his curiosity was getting the best of them. 

“Kazumi doesn’t have family,” Saho held the behemoth’s hand comfortingly. 

“He’s alive. He has to have a family,” argued Akihito. Someone had to create him. 

“He was raised by a single mother, and he never met his father,” was the answer. 

“Have you called his mother?” he pressed. It was vitally important to him. Someone had to come to take care of Suoh. Akihito knew that his mother would smother him should he ever suffer a severe injury. It seemed cruel to keep his mom away while he teetered at death’s door. 

“She died from breast cancer five years ago,” whispered Saho. “He has a sister, but they had a falling out. They haven’t spoken in almost two decades.” 

Damn. He couldn’t imagine ever being so angry at his cousins that he never wanted to speak to them. Akihito wondered if Saho knew what had happened, but she seemed reticent. He figured that she was still sore over their fight. Maybe she just wanted him to go away. Then her quiet voice broke the heavy silence. “We weren’t trying to hide anything from you.”

His head swiveled around. Akihito knew exactly what she was referring to, but had not expected her to bring it up. Saho had not once talked about her past with Asami, except to refer to them as close friends. Beyond that, Akihito knew nothing but what his lover had said. Still, he had no idea what to say to that statement. 

“I just assumed that you know. You’re a reporter, I mean,” Saho shrugged dourly. “It was public knowledge, and media everywhere knew it. We had our pictures together in magazines, on billboards.” She looked up, forcing tears to roll back into her eyes. “How could you not have known?”

Akihito stayed silent. He never considered that either of them assumed he had always known. Yeah, he was in the entertainment industry, and he actually knew people who followed the sleazy columns religiously. It was a logical assumption, but assumptions came with that painful aphorism. When he never mentioned it; that might have clued them in that he was unaware. Then again, it could have been so long ago that they had forgotten about it too. It was a part of the untenable past that could not be put into words, only experienced. 

Akihito had not processed it all, but his anger had greatly dissipated. When he looked at the situation through their eyes, it was understandable that they would be nonplussed. Right now, he wanted someone to empathize with, and if he was honest with himself, he missed Saho and their developing friendship. The relief that he felt when Takato and Kou declined his invitation was further proof that he had wanted to hang out with her all along. Without thinking, his fingers dialed her number, but was directed to leave her a message. 

Strange. It rang several times before going to voicemail. If she was with a client, Saho usually turned her phone off or rejected a call immediately. Akihito knew that she had spent the first two days working by Suoh’s bedside, calling clients rather than going into the office. Hibiki and Merav had shouldered more of the burden as well. But she should have been home by now. Maybe her phone was on silent.

That was an easy fix. 

Turning the stove off, Akihito swung the front door open. The stationed goons reeled forward in surprise. “Hey guys,” he flushed. 

“Are you leaving Takaba-sama?” the man on the left asked. 

He nodded. “I’m just going down to Saho’s,” he said. The men glanced at each other; unsure of whom he was talking about. Akihito was slightly surprised that they did not know who Saho was, but then again, she didn’t really hang around Sion a lot. “To see Kirishima’s wife.”

The men both nodded their heads. “Yes, sir.”

He was not the least bit surprised when they followed him to the elevator or when they stood behind him as they road down. The first time Akihito went to Saho’s apartment, he had expected there to be a normal hallway, crammed with doors to different units. Instead, it was a long corridor with one door on either side. Suoh and Kirishima lived in nearly the same luxury as Asami. It made sense, especially with Kirishima being married to someone as particular as Saho, but at the time Akihito was floored by the revelation. 

Akihito heard raised voices. Mostly Saho’s voice, actually. He knocked, and like a scene in a movie, it opened somewhat. Enough to hear that Saho was arguing with what sounded like Kirishima. Akihito wrinkled his forehead. Asami should have been in Russia on his way to Kiev, if he wasn’t already there, and the last Akihito had checked, Kirishima was with him. 

Hibiki met him in the hallway. He pulled his shoulders back as he met Akihito’s eyes. “Oh, it’s you,” he sighed. “Come on in.”

“What’s going on?” Akihito followed him into the living room. 

“Don’t say anything, and try to keep out of his line of sight,” Hibiki told him. He winced when Kirishima’s shout echoed throughout the apartment. “Is what you needed important? It would be better to wait until tomorrow.”

Akihito didn’t answer his question. “What’s going on? I thought that Kirishima was out of the country.”

They walked into the living room. Hibiki pointed to the television, where Kirishima’s sanguineous face was mottled, and a little bit of spit clumped in the corner of his mouth. Saho was standing in front of the television, hands on her lower back and her hair pulled back messily from her face. “It happens all the time!” 

Kirishima’s face was scrunched as he leaned in towards the screen. He must have been on a video conference. “Not to my wife! Not when she’s pregnant with my child!” he poked himself in the chest with each declaration. Akihito winced. It looked like the man would have bruises in the morning.

“Saho was robbed,” whispered Hibiki as he leaned in to Akihito. “And no one knew.”

Akihito made a face. Oh shit. He had forgotten about that night. Saho had sworn that they would go undiscovered, but fate had other plans. Since he had not gotten an enraged call from his fiancé, Akihito assumed that she hadn’t thrown him under the bus. The pregnant lady was covering his ass. Again. He felt like a piece of shit. Now she had to come to dinner.

“Nothing happened! You’re overreacting!” Saho screamed at him. She kept bracing her back with her hands, leaning back to keep her stomach forward. 

“You could have been hurt! And the baby! We don’t know how the adrenaline and the stress could have affected her!” 

“She’s fine!” Saho winced, her chest heaving suddenly. “She’s kicking my ribs right now!”

Reeling back, Kirishima grabbed his skull. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you know how insane you sound? Our child could have died! You could have died!” 

“I can’t control what other people do––“

“Ohoho yes you can! You do it all the time!” Kirishima pulled his glasses off his face. “Besides, you should not be walking alone at night!” 

“Having someone with me wouldn’t have made a difference!” Saho blinked back tears. Still, her hand stayed on her lower back. 

“You don’t know that!”

Saho snorted. Akihito wondered if he should intervene. Saho did know it for a fact, and the angrier her husband became, the worse he felt. He stepped forward to say something when Saho looked his way. Gaze darkening, it was as if she could read his mind. “I have to go,” Saho said, still looking at the photographer. “A client just walked in.”

“You know you’re not supposed to work late––“

“I’m not,” Saho cut her husband off. “It’s dinner time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.” She turned the TV off before he could respond. Wiping her eyes with her fingertips, she sniffed, and Akihito then realized that she was crying. “What’s up?” she turned to the photographer, trying valiantly to keep her voice level. 

“How did he find out?” Akihito slowly walked towards her. He hugged her, trying to be comforting. It wasn’t exactly his forte. 

“My ring turned up at a pawnshop,” Saho leaned into his hug. She patted his back, hands shaking. “Sabiko engraved a serial number on it without telling me, since I’ve lost them before. . The shop ran it, and when it should have had an owner, they called the police. Kuroda called Kei.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“It isn’t your fault,” she pulled away. “That’s for certain. What can I do for you?” She did not mention that he had been avoiding her since their spat. He appreciated that. 

“I wanted to invite you to dinner,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. Realizing that there was a third person in the room, he nodded towards Hibiki. “Both of you. I’m making tonkatsu.”

“We’d love to come,” Saho answered for both of them. Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she took a gasping breath. “Just give me a few minutes to collect myself. We’ll meet you up there.”

Akihito grinned, “Great.”

*

So, he knew that Saho wasn’t the type to stand him up once plans were made. She was almost as meticulous as her husband. If something had come up, she would have called. After waiting forty-five minutes, and still no answer to his calls, Akihito trotted his ass back downstairs. The two guards said nothing, but Akihito could feel the curiosity as they followed him. He had given up on explaining why he was up and down so much. If Saho would just answer her damn phone, then he could focus on cooking. 

The food was done, but that was so beside the point. 

“Saho?” he let himself into the apartment again. He figured that she owed him that courtesy. 

“Hold this,” Hibiki rushed by, thrusting a suitcase into his hands. 

“Huh?” he grabbed it without really thinking about it. It was small and light, and very feminine. Hopefully it was not Hibiki’s. 

“Do you have your phone?” Hibiki literally ran back into the living room. “Takaba has your hospital bag,” the man’s voice faded as he barreled into another. “Where do you keep your shoes?”

It took Akihito about two seconds to realize what was happening. He then took off in a run towards Saho. Oh shit. The baby was coming. “Are you okay?” he gasped, clutching her bag to his chest. “How long have you been in labor? What do I need to do?”

“Nobody panic,” Saho sat in her relegated on the couch, her hands on her stomach. “It’s okay,” she sounded way too calm for someone about to go through a life changing event. She breathed in slowly, in her nose and out her mouth. “She’s not coming yet.”

“Yes, she is!” Hibiki’s pointy head poked out from the master bedroom. “For the love of all that is holy woman, do you not have a pair of flats?” 

“Bottom right corner of my closet,” Saho called over her shoulder. “Can you help me stannnnddddd!” she grimaced through a contraction. 

“Oh shit! Was that a bad one?” Akihito pulled her up to her feet. He looked around, trying to figure out how to brace her. Were they going to have to carry her to her car? And who had a car? He didn’t know how to drive! “That sounded painful!” The goons! Surely one of them could drive to a hospital!

“Akihito,” Saho put a stilling hand on his chest. “You need to calm down. I’m fine.” 

“But, you’re in labor!” he gaped. No one could be fine in labor. He remembered when his aunt giving birth to his youngest cousin. The way she howled still gave him nightmares. 

“It’s going to be fine,” she reassured him. 

“Have you gotten a hold of Kei yet?” Hibiki barged in, holding a pair of patent leather shoes.

“Both of you stop!” Saho flailed her arms, trying to push Akihito way. He clutched her tightly, incase her knees buckled and the baby fell out. “You need to calm down. This is just the start, and we have a long way to go. And I can put my shoes on myself!” she waved Hibiki away. The assistant had dropped to his knees to try to shove the flats on her feet Cinderella style. 

“Where are you going?” Akihito called as she waddled towards her home office. He tried to sound calm, but his heart raced. At least she wasn’t agitated. Hibiki was not as concerned with his boss’s feelings. He trailed after the woman, his face a cherry pink. 

“Don’t bring work to the hospital!” he chastised the woman. “You’re going to be busy pushing!” 

Saho grabbed her iPad and her phone. Now Akihito knew why she had not answered his calls. “Grab the wedding binder, too,” she instructed her assistant. He kept arguing, but grabbed the binder as she said. Holding her phone up to her ear, she tried calling her husband. “He isn’t answer–––“ she sucked a deep breath in. 

“That sounded bad,” Akihito shifted her bag onto his shoulder, and for a brief moment, flashed back to the night they met. 

“Nope,” she shook her head with a smile. Akihito thought it looked a little forced. “We’re good. Let’s go,” she pulled her keys out of her purse. 

Before Akihito could say anything, Hibiki plucked the keys out of her hand. “You aren’t driving,” he told her. “Now we can leave.” 

*

He wished he could have taken a photo of the guards’ faces when Saho had another contraction in the elevator. Both looked petrified, like shooting a man point blank was preferable to delivering a baby in the elevator. Speaking of the lift, with every shudder and creak Akihito pictured it grinding to a halt. He could not breathe until they were out of it, and walking towards Saho’s SUV. Thankfully Kirishima liked cars and had picked out a large one for his wife, because they needed the room. The goons refused to abandon their posts, even the face of baby goop, and they piled into the car, too. 

“She’s having a baby!” the photographer burst into the emergency room. He expected people to rush into a chaotic frenzy. Maybe a doctor and a surgical staff burst out of the metal doors with a gurney. 

Instead, the patient coordinator looked over her thick glasses. “Name and age?”

“Kirishima Saho,” answered the panting woman. “And I’m twenty-nine years old.”

“All righty,” the woman gestured to the wheelchair that a tech brought up. “Sit down. I just need a little bit of information, and then we can get you back. Who’s your doctor?”

“General health is Dr. Reiko, and my OBGYN is Amagi-sensei,” replied the woman as she gingerly sat down, her hand steadying on her stomach. Akihito’s gaze bounced between the two women who spoke calmly with smiles. Maybe having a baby was not such a big deal after all. It was not nearly as dramatic as he expected. 

“Dr. Reiko?” the woman with the glasses repeated quickly. She pushed an intercom button and snapped for another tech. “You should have told me that you were a priority patient,” she chastised. “We have a room reserved for you.” The woman’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “You weren’t due for another nine days.”

“She’s my first,” Saho admitted.

“Are you the father?” the coordinator asked Akihito. Her eyes zeroed in on his hand that squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. 

Akihito’s mouth dropped almost as quickly as his hand. The coordinator turned her attention to Hibiki who shook his head, eyes wide. “He’s out of the country at the moment.” 

The woman nodded. “Youkino will take you back now.” 

*

The hospital room was a light blue, and smelled like bleach. Saho sat in the bed, her gown pulled up around her shoulders, and her phone pressed against her ear. Akihito and Hibiki sat on her right, half-heartedly looking at venues. Saho said it kept them calm, but Akihito had a niggling suspicion that it kept her calm as well. The photographer tried to focus, but was easily distracted by her sharp, sudden gasps. 

The woman kept trying to reach her husband, but the secretary was not answering. That was totally out of character for the rigid man, especially with the baby’s due date drawing near. Akihito was met with the same response when he tried Ryu’s number. Either the men were in the middle of an intense attack on Pushkin, or they were dead. Saho was spiraling into a full blown panic, refusing to listen to reason when the nurse walked in. 

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Kirishima?” she asked with a schmaltzy smile. 

“Fine, fine. My pain level is a four,” Saho waved her away. Akihito thought that the phone might meld to her face if she kept pressing it harder to her ear. 

The nurse nodded. “Good,” she wrote down Saho’s vitals. “Dr. Amagi will be in soon to see how much you have dilated.”

“Tell him not to worry about it,” Saho immediately pressed redial when she was directed to Kei’s voicemail. “I’m not ready to have the baby yet.”

The nurse offered an understanding smile. “Still waiting to hear from your husband?” 

“That bastard,” Saho muttered, which was entirely unhelpful, so Akihito answered for her. 

“He’s on a business trip,” it felt like it was the fourth time he had explained Kirishima’s absence. The man would be by his wife’s side if he knew. “We can’t get a hold of him, or anyone that he’s with.”

“Talk about your bad luck,” the nurse chuckled. 

“Bad luck?!” Saho turned on the nurse. “It isn’t bad luck,” she hissed like a cat. “It’s poor planning and an inconsiderate Russian who has nothing better to do than fuck my family over!” Saho lurched, and her phone flew through the air. The unprepared nurse shrieked, crouching down with clipboard above her head. The phone shattered, exploding like a firework and the woman watched it happen in horror.

Saho gave her no sympathy. “Get out,” she commanded. “Now.”

The nurse did not need to be told twice. She scampered out of the room, undoubtedly to the nearest doctor to report a deranged woman in 3004. That was the story of how Saho lost her phone privileges. Hibiki took over, while Saho talked to Akihito about venues. 

“You aren’t paying attention,” she waspishly snapped. 

“I’m more in the moment,” he confessed with a glance at his watch. They had been at the hospital for nearly five hours with no word from anyone in Russia. Saho refused to let anyone near her legs, keeping them tightly closed and wrapped in a scratchy blanket. “Maybe we should try your parents, and Kirishima’s. They might have a different number to contact him with.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Saho grabbed his hand and squeezed with all of her might. Face scrunched, eyes shut tight she let out a loud moan. 

“Pain level?” he quickly picked up on the nurse’s lingo. 

“Six and a half,” she lied. She really meant eight. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound it,” 

“I’m in labor! It’s not going to be fun!” she cried. “Ahhhahahaha!” The contractions were coming closer together. Akihito had a limited medical background, which meant he had seen a couple of TV dramas, but even he knew what that meant. 

“Maybe it’s time for Hibiki to call your parents,” the photographer tried to suggest. “They will want to be here.”

“The baby isn’t coming until Kei gets here,” Saho firmly replied. “We don’t need to wake them UUUUPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!” she squealed through another contraction. When it passed, she shook her head and pretended that it was not a bad one. “And I’ve never met Kei’s family. They don’t live in the country.”

That had his attention. Akihito assumed that Asami’s subordinate had a typical, boring life. He knew nothing about Kirishima’s past, or anything about his relationship with Asami or Saho. The man was a blank countenance, keeping the secrets of the world. “Why not?”

“They live in Italy,” she answered between pants. “They didn’t want Kei to come back to Japan, and he did. They haven’t spoken to him since before I met him.”

Whoa. Everyone in Asami’s inner circle seemed to push others away. It allowed them to dedicate their entire life to the enigmatic man. Akihito wondered if he was doing that to his family and friends. Yeah, he totally loved the fixer, but he did not want to forsake the rest of his family for one man.

*

Eventually, one of Akihito’s guards offered to try calling his brother. The man was named Tsukishiba Akibe, and his brother had gone to Russia with Asami. Akihito thought it was a long shot, but was desperate enough to try. The way Saho shrieked when a birthing pain hit made him wish the guy had offered to call earlier. It was pretty obvious that they were reaching their wits’ end.

*

“Kei,” Saho sobbed. Her thick hair was pulled haphazardly behind her head, and was sticking out in a million different directions. Sweat poured off her upper brow, mixing with the tears. She feebly shook her head when Dr. Amagi walked in. “Where are you?” 

“Saho?” the doctor was an older gentleman, with white, frizzy hair and crinkled eyes. “We need to start getting you prepped for delivery.” 

Hibiki took that as the cue to call Saho’s parents. They were going to have enough trouble as it was making it in time. 

“No,” her head flopped like a fish. “Not until Kei gets here.”

“Saho, your child is going to push herself out, whether you like it or not,” the doctor reminded her. 

“Then push her back in!” Saho sat forward and screamed. The bones in his hand cracked from the sudden pressure as she squeezed Akihito’s hand. He leaned forward with her, trying to give her all the support that he could. 

“Pain level?” he asked, even though it was pretty obvious that Saho was reaching the end of her pain threshold. 

“Eight,” she croaked out with a sob. “Just an eight.”

“Can we get her an epidural now?” Akihito demanded loudly. “Can’t you see she’s in pain?” As nurses rushed around them in a maelstrom, Saho dropped her head. Thoughtlessly, Akihito moved behind her, leaning her back into his chest. She was pliable, not exerting any control over her muscles. He tried to support her, keep her upright as best as he could. Inwardly, he was cursing Kirishima. It was a husband’s job to help his wife through the delivery. It should have been Glasses sitting behind Saho, while Akihito paced in the waiting room. 

Saho’s head rolled back. Turgid throat exposed, she whimpered. “I can’t do this.”

Hot tears mixed with the saline sweat as they rolled down her cheeks. They dripped onto his shirt, burning like acid. “Yes, yes you can.” He tried to sound sure and strong. Anything to give the woman in front of him help. “I know you can.”

“No,” she whispered, her breath tickling his soft hair on his ear. “I can’t.”

“Saho,” Hibiki quickly stood from his chair, his face pale. A lead ball dropped in Akihito’s stomach as he prepared for terrible news. The assistant crossed the room in two steps, pressing the phone to her ear. “It’s your husband.”

*

The door to his room nearly fell off the hinges from the force of the knock. Whoever it was pounded away at the flimsy wooden thing, not saying a word. Kirishima’s fingers fumbled across the end table, trying to find his glasses or the light switch. It was too dark to see, too early to think, and his mind was too addled by the opium he had taken to calm his racing heart. Being so close to Asami, he was usually alert the moment the moment he opened his eyes just in case there was an eminent threat. The poppy flower was doing its job too well, and he was still slightly addled. 

He had been inconsolable after his fight with his wife, and his apoplexy had made him useless when Asami strategized with Mikhail Arbatov. They were still at the compound, having been smuggled into the country before they ambushed Pushkin, who was due to arrive in Moscow in a week by the president’s commission. The sunny haired Russian was a bloodthirsty barbarian as he plotted his arch nemesis’s demise. Nikolai Pushkin would come to a brutal end. Their lives hung in the balance of the operation, and every last word was heavy with importance, but all Kirishima could envision was a loaded gun pointed at Saho’s swollen stomach, and a faceless man that threatened his entire world. 

“You seem tense,” Arbatov drawled with a saucy smirk as he dropped on his oversized couch, his arms splaying on the backrest.

Kirishima sat stiffly across from the reposed man, his face blank. Arbatov had known the man many years, so he was easily able to read beneath the stony facade to the swirling charybdis in his mind. Asami did not answer for his man, though. His own brilliant mind raced, trying to recall any odd changes in Akihito’s behavior. One of his men would have reported the robbery had the photographer been present, and they would have intervened. Besides, Akihito knew better than to keep something like that a secret. No. His little lover was definitely not present for the robbery, he decided conclusively. 

The decision did nothing to ease the burning suspicion in his gut. 

“Here,” Arbatov was well aware of the fight as he tossed Kirishima two sealed packets. “This should help relax you.” 

Kirishima looked at the small packets in his hand.“Opium?” the secretary asked with a skeptical brow. He was not opposed to drugs. He had sampled all of them at some point, before and after entering Asami’s service. Accepting free flowing packets when a substantial part of the Ruskie’s business came from the poppy seeds made him wry. 

Arbatov smirked in a self-satisfied sort of way, his eyes squinting together like a cat that had just gorged itself on milk. He sank into the supple leather of the sofa, his arms spread like a king’s. “It’s not bad merchandise,” he easily recognized the secretary’s hesitance. “I’m not going to send you off some bender to just to piss you off.”

Kirishima gripped the packets tightly. “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he said through a locked jaw. 

The Russian shook his head. “Shit hits the fan tomorrow. We all could be a little mellower in the morning,” he pulled out more opium packets as well as a long pipe. “I know you carry your own pipe,” he nodded to Asami. “And I’m assuming you do too, Kirishima.”

Asami was an aficionado, and used any excuse to collect pipes and their accessories. He was not partial to opium because of how long the effects lasted. However, he would not refuse a buzz from an ally, especially when Arbatov grew a damn fine flower. Seeing his boss accept the invitation with a nod of his head, Kirishima made to stand. “I’ll get the pipes.”

“Nonsense,” Asami waved him down. “Tsukishiba can get them.” Kirishima reluctantly sat back down. The young guard with the crew cut was eager to please, and he nearly ran out of the room to do as he was bid. 

Iosef, Arbatov’s second-in-command, shook his slicked back hair with mirth. He had taken over Yuri’s role after the man met his icy death. The man was more jovial than serious, and he laughed loudly with his head tossed back, but Kirishima sensed a lethal predator hidden by nonchalance. “Women, man,” he chuckled. “You love ‘em, but God they make life hell.”

Kirishima grunted. The last thing he wanted to talk about with the enigmatic man was his wife. Tsukishiba bowed when he returned with the daedal ebony pipes. The men packed their pipes snuggly, while Iosef and Peytr raucously joked about a woman at a local brothel. 

Which brought him to several hours later.

“Just a minute!” he shouted blearily. 

Rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist, he abled towards the door. Grabbing his cell, the secretary used it to light his way to the door. Though he had been in the compound for three days, he had already committed the room’s layout to memory, as he did with Asami’s just in case they were attacked. The man was usually instantly alert when his eyes opened, another side effect of living in Asami’s shadow. Still, the light kept him from breaking toes or bruising his shins as he walked. His drug induced state made the room shift constantly, like he was walking on water. 

“Yes?” Kirishima swung the door open. He had not recognized the knock, but he knew the sweating face of the young guard, Tsukishiba Eiji. The boy’s face was bloodless, and Kirishima’s heart began to race, despite the opiates. “What’s going on?” Kirishima glanced at his phone to check the time. And his heart stopped racing. There were twenty-seven missed calls from his wife.

“My brother just called,” Tsukishiba bowed low. “He’s with Takaba-sama––“

“The baby’s coming,” horror flooded his system. 

The baby was coming, and he was nowhere near his wife.

*

Saho’s head dropped back as she screamed. Akihito sat behind her trying to keep her propped up while she pushed. There were nurses and a midwife, and two doctors that had to watch a birth live, all swirling around them chaotically like fish. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to breathe deeply between the contractions. 

“Just a little more, Saho,” Dr. Amagi said from the foot of the bed. “Push one more time for me.”

Saho screamed a feral, deep scream and it sounded like she was being ripped open from the inside out. And then there was a rush of blood, and slick. “She’s crowning!” Dr. Amagi’s bellow reverberated in the small room, as if this was the first child he had ever delivered. “Again, Saho! Push!”

Eyes clamped shut, her tears mixed with her sweat and Saho’s jaw unhinged as she screamed. Akihito thought he might be screaming too. The world was deathly silent save for Saho, and his own thrumming heartbeat. Dr. Amagi grabbed a hold of something between Saho’s legs, the one place Akihito refused to look, and he gently pulled. Saho still whimpered and hiccupped, the searing white-hot pain blistering her mind. 

The nurses rushed away to a table, something carried between them. Dr. Amagi was pushing on Saho’s stomach, forcing a putrid effluvium out of her. It squished unpleasantly, nauseating the photographer. Saho’s body went limp, her breathing still hard. Her stomach was flatter though, and then…

One heartbeat passed…

…and then two…

…and then, Akihito realized what the nurses were holding, what had been bundled up tightly and was coming back towards Saho a wailing, shriveled up mess…

The baby had finally come. 

*

“Here she is,” a giddy nurse turned towards the Kirishima. Akihito hovered in the corner with Asami, his eyes wide with anticipation. Kirishima’s grip on Saho’s shoulder went lax, and his mouth dropped. The man was meeting his child for the first time, and he looked at her as if she held all the world’s secrets. 

“Saho,” he whispered in awe as the tightly swaddled baby was tucked into his arms. She was asleep, and curled into his warmth reflexively. “She’s beautiful.”

Saho smiled adoringly at the pair. “She is,” her voice was like warm honey. The new mother actually glowed. 

“What’s the name?” Asami’s voice was surprisingly raspy, getting stuck in the back of his throat. The sentiment was overpowering. It was his first time near a newborn, and he was just as wonderstruck as the new parents. Suoh lay in a hospital bed next to Saho’s. He had been wheeled in at the Kirishimas' insistence. For the first time, Akihito understood that this hodgepodge group was a family, and somehow by jumping off the roof all those years ago, he had been adopted into it. 

“We might not be allowed to know yet,” Suoh’s chuckle was weak. Saho, and by extension Kirishima, had not told anyone the infant’s name. No matter how much they were pestered, how much money Asami offered as a bribe, or how hard Suoh threatened to hit him, the secretary had not dropped even a hint. “It’s still bad luck.”

“Oh hush,” Saho looked like a train wreck shadow of her usually immaculate self, but then again, she had just given birth. It seemed impossible for either Kirishima to take their eyes off the child. 

“Everyone,” Kirishima stood proud, pulling his shoulders back so that the baby was showcased to the room. “I’d like to introduce Kirishima Bohai.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your reviews, favorites, kudos, comments, follows, et cetera. Every time I get an email that pertains to Viewfinder, I squeal. You all are amazing, and I appreciate you. 
> 
> Thank goodness, Akihito is finally over his petulant phase. As Elsa first said two and a half years ago, Let it go. You know, I never expected there to be such intense reactions to Saho. People loved her, and others hated her. I thought she would be a back element to everything else in the chapter, but boy was I wrong. I do have to say, that on the whole she had more supporters than haters. Again, not what I would have expected, but I won't complain! I like her haha. 
> 
> Have a great week everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> The title may change. I haven't fallen in love with it a hundred percent.


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